


Supernatural Christmas Calendar 2020

by Shama_Nina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Animal Attack, Attempt at Humor, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blindness, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Love, Burns, Canon Compliant, Canon relationships mentioned - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Chronic Pain, Cutting, Dean Winchester Has PTSD, Dean Winchester Hates Witches, Dean Winchester Wears Glasses, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Dean Winchester is a mess, Dean Winchester-centric, Dissociation, Execution, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Family Issues, Fear, Fever, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Good Parent Bobby Singer, Good Sibling Dean Winchester, Good Sibling Sam Winchester, Graphic Description, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, I fucking love Donna, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infection, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Mute Dean Winchester, Muteness, Near Death Experiences, Needles, Non-Consensual Touching, Overdosing, Parent Bobby Singer, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rescue Missions, Revenge, Running Away, Scared Dean Winchester, Scars, Selectively Mute Dean Winchester, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Sacrificing Dean Winchester, Strangulation, Team Free Will (Supernatural), Team as Family, Temporary blind character, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Waterboarding, Whump, Worried Bobby Singer, Young Winchesters (Supernatural), a little fluff, as in my interpretation of canon, because I'm not a doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 80,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shama_Nina/pseuds/Shama_Nina
Summary: One Supernatural Story for every day until Christmas my friends!!Most of them will be centered around hurt/comfort, prompts are gathered from past whumptober lists and similar sites if they look familiar to you x'DFirst Chapter is a detailed list/summary of the topics for every entry, they can be read as stand alones, so there is no need to read all of them if a prompt sounds triggering or otherwise gross or uninteresting to you, completed with all the characters that are featured in the stories! (There are more detailed triggers in the summaries of the corresponding chapter) Tags are in order of appearanceM/M won't be explicit, there are slight mentions of Castiel/Dean but it's mostly themed around familial love :3 Tags will be added as I goI hope you'll enjoy and leave feedback in the comments, I wish you a beautiful advent time <3
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Donna Hanscum & Dean Winchester, Jody Mills & Bobby Singer, Jody Mills & Dean Winchester, Jody Mills & Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	1. Prompt-List

1\. Falling through ice / Hypothermia --- Dean, Sam, Charlie  
2\. Animal attack / Fear of dogs / Ambush --- Dean, Sam, Jody  
3\. Make an example out of them / Hanging / Strangling --- Dean, Sam, Jo, Ellen  
4\. Infection / Reopening old wounds --- Dean, Missouri  
5\. Backhand / Dissociation --- Dean, Bobby, Rufus (implied child abuse)  
6\. Stalker / Knife to the throat --- Dean, Sam (referenced, past rape/non-con)  
7\. Traumatic touch aversion / Rape --- Dean, Sam, Donna (attempted rape/non-con as well as references to past rape/non-con)  
8\. Hidden scars / Self-harm --- Dean, Sam (referenced child abuse, molestation etc.)  
9\. Setting a bone / Working to exhaustion --- Dean, Rufus, Bobby  
10\. Carved marks / Fainting --- Dean, Sam, Castiel (PTSD, Alastair is his own warning, Castiel/Dean)  
11\. Hiding an injury / Improvised surgery --- Dean, Sam, Jo, Ellen  
12\. Stitches / Childhood trauma --- Dean, Sam (referenced child abuse, or just general bad parenting)  
13\. Flashbacks / Chronic Pain / Overdose --- Dean, Bobby (PTSD, Hell and so on)  
14\. Does not realize they're injured / Internal bleeding --- Dean, Sam, Donna  
15\. Left behind / Kicked while down --- Dean, Sam, Castiel, Charlie (Angels can be assholes but Castiel/Dean<3)  
16\. Rendered mute / Manhandling --- Dean, Sam, John (Heavy topics of child abuse, abandonment, mental health issues of all kind and rape)  
17\. Human Shield / Temporary Blindness --- Dean, Sam, Bobby  
18\. Painful wound cleaning / Fever --- Dean, Sam  
19\. Hurts to breathe / Caught in an explosion --- Dean, Sam, Castiel (near death experiences)  
20\. Bleeding through bandages / Gunshot wounds --- Dean, Jody  
21\. Black Eye / Concussion --- Dean, Sam, John (Kidfic, featuring John's bad parenting, aka abuse)  
22\. Forced to watch / Rope burn --- Dean, Sam, Castiel (pretty explicit torture in this one!)  
23\. Buried / Dragged by the ankle --- Dean, Sam, Bobby  
24\. Thrown from a horse / Crutches --- Dean, Sam, Jody, Alex, Claire (teeny tiny bit of Fluff)  



	2. 1. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hypothermia / Falling through ice --- Dean, Sam, POV Charlie
> 
> Charlie's Ghosthunt goes a little south and Dean takes a dive into a frozen lake.  
> There are no additional triggers/warnings for this chapter, just Charlie x'D

The Winchester brothers declared the hunt they planned safe enough for me to join, as safe as they’ll ever get, they said. An easy salt and burn, a vengeful spirit haunting a small cabin in the snowy mountains of Wyoming. Pretty close to Yellowstone apparently, the ghost killed some tourist, various papers had written articles about their deaths, that the younger had come across in his search for a case.

Ever since meeting Sam and Dean it was my wish to be a hunter as well. They didn’t just save my own life, they saved hundreds of lives with their actions and nobody even noticed them most of the time. They were just like the secret comic book heroes I always admired.

It wasn’t a chance I could let go of, so I begged them to teach me. They were pretty reluctant to bring “a girl” into this lifestyle. I was barely two years younger than Sam, but whatever, I was used to comments like that and knew they meant well.  
So they said I could come and learn to be a hunter. But only on the cases that weren’t dangerous of course.

What a joke, especially the cases they deemed easy or safe had a tendency to go south faster than they could say Batman. Good for me, at least I could actually learn something that way. Some scrapes and bumps were a small price to pay I thought.

I was all too happy to pack my bags and sit in the backseat of the impala with them, the old heater whirring noisily and an even older rock song of some sort blaring out of the tape player to fill the silence.

I was bundled in two thick sweaters, my woolen coat laid over my lap for the time being. The closer we got to our destination, the colder it got. Wyoming was freezing this time of the year, snow covering the roads and falling on the windshield.  
Dean was pissed about his Baby getting dirty on the salted roads so fast again after having her cleaned up barely yesterday like he always was.

It was the first time I saw him wearing something thicker than a simple flannel. A well-worn hoodie hidden under his leather jacket. I thought it made him look younger, but he would hate that comment, so I kept it to myself wisely, just like that thought that he would probably be cold as fuck when we finally got there.

His brother wore one of that ugly down jackets that made him look kind of fat and a nice scarf. At least he would be warm.

Sam’s mood seemed fine, he was still staring at his laptop, researching the case, not bothered by our noise or the cold at all. Someone used to sitting in a car for hours on end and could still get his work done.

“We’re probably dealing with the ghost of a Tommy Prett. A bunch of college kids spent their holidays in the same cabin last year. They got drunk and lost him outside, he froze to death. And now we have the very recent and very similar deaths of a couple at the end of November and a young family father two days ago. Just like Tommy they were found outside of the cabin, frozen. All we have to do is find out where Tommy was buried.” Sam explained his findings in a relaxed tone.

“Easy. We gonna play FBI or rent the cabin?” Dean asked simply.  
“The cabin’s still available, they declared the deaths tragic accidents, nothing to be done about that from the eye of the police or the owners. Possible guests still think it’s pretty creepy I guess, so nobody’s there at the moment. We should probably just rent it for a night or two.” The younger answered with a self-assured nod.

“Ohh cool, so we’re actually going to sleep in a haunted cabin?!” I couldn’t help my excitement and practically felt Dean’s fond eyeroll while he answered.  
“Yeah, but the ghost will already be ganked by the time we go to sleep, promise.”

After that it didn’t take much longer. Sam booked the cabin online, so we headed directly to the library to look at the local cemeteries and their registers.

That part of the hunt I was already way too familiar with in my opinion. Sitting in uncomfortable library chairs the whole afternoon was boring, but at least all three of us worked together for once so it didn’t take as long as I feared it would.

It was Dean that finally found out where Tommy was buried. He had the tendency to literally jump out of his position with a deep exhale, his dislike for research was kind of obvious even if he didn’t complain out loud for once.

“Found the fucker. He’s buried at Talwake cemetery. A small one just outside town. We should go and eat something first though. It’s still going to take a while until it’s dark.”  
Both Sam and I agreed instantly, the cold weather always made me more hungry.

After food we ordered some hot coffee to go to keep us warm on the drive. Even if it was still early December it was already dark at eight o’clock, pitch black to be honest and as the snowfall only got worse no soul was outside if they could help it. Nobody would notice us digging up a grave even though it wasn’t in the middle of the night for once.

Everything seemed fine while we were digging and just like they said, it was an easy salt and burn. Sadly nothing seemed to happen. It was just too easy, if you know what I mean. Even Dean seemed a little put off by it and he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth as they say.

“I guess we’ll have to look for something he could be attached to in the cabin?” I asked with a quirky smile, trying to lighten the mood again.

Dean just grunted something intelligible, his leather jacket zipped up to his mouth while shoveling all the dirt back in place. Sam’s answer was a silent shrug and a manic grin in the direction of his older brother. He was obviously amused about Dean being miserable in the cold after he undoubtedly made fun of the down monstrosity his younger brother had purchased specifically for this trip.

I barely suppressed a giggle in response to their expressions and quickly helped with shoveling. The only good thing about the rapid snowfall was that there would be no evidence of our digging left in the morning.

Afterwards there was only one logical way of continuing the case: Driving to the cabin.

It wasn’t all that much of a drive from the cemetery, but it was dark and the roads were more ice than anything else at this point and there was literally nothing out here but snow and some lonesome trees, so it felt like it took forever to get there. Honestly, I was quite tired after that day.

Still, I wanted to do my part, as soon as we got there, we started searching the little block house from top to bottom. There was nothing to be found though and all of us started getting frustrated.

“At this point I hope the stupid ghost shows up and tries to kill me.” Dean groaned paging through another photo album that held mostly nature pictures from the surrounding area and some group photos of people who had stayed in the cabin, from what I could tell.

“Yeah, that would certainly be easier.” I agreed from my spot in the small bathroom. “Oh come on, stop whining, I’ll make some coffee.” Sam countered with a smile in his voice.

As soon as I was done with my cup, I was practically asleep on the tabletop and I could feel a large hand patting my hair fondly. I couldn’t tell if it was Dean or Sam, but I didn’t feel like it mattered either.  
“It’s fine Charlie, take a nap if you want to.” The older brother said calmly and I couldn’t help myself anymore.

I awoke to a loud clamoring sound and early morning light. Well technically it wasn’t that early anymore I guess, but in winter the sun always decides to be lazy and rises way later than acceptable in my opinion.

“Shit, I found it!” Dean exclaimed loudly from his place on the lumpy couch, a whole pile of books and albums piled at his feet. He must have kicked them over while getting up in his usual careless fashion.

“What is it?” I asked sleepily, getting up from my place at the kitchen table while I heard Sam jogging down the stairs.

“There’s a photo of his group, but he’s already missing. I bet he’s fucking angry about that.” Dean answered and as if the ghost of Tommy wanted to agree with his statement the front door burst open loudly, the cold wind from outside blowing at the curtains and the opened books angry like a storm.

The photo slipped between the fingers of the blond hunter and was carried by the winds like a leaf in fall. Straight out of the wide open door.

Sam screamed at Dean to stay, but his brother was already running outside, swearing like a sailor all the while. I had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling and ran after Sam and Dean. Following a ghost outside that had killed three people out there? It just didn’t feel right.

The cold was still biting and the wind felt harsh on my cheeks even though there was already enough sunlight to blind me for a second in the masses of white snow.

I had some difficulties with catching up to the older hunters. Sam’s legs were probably double the length of my own and Dean still managed to surprise me with his strength and agility even after months of living together in the bunker now.

By the time I reached Sam, I crashed into his back hard enough to fall on my own butt because of his rapid stop.

“Shit, Charlie, step back, step back!” He said while helping me up and quickly steered the two of us back a few steps as soon as I was standing again.  
I couldn’t help my confusion and stammered something I couldn’t exactly remember, pointing at Dean, who was still chasing the photo.

“Dean, stop running and stay still, that’s a lake you’re standing on! The ice isn’t thick enough to carry us!” The younger Winchester screamed in the direction of his brother, but Dean ignored him. I was pretty sure he heard him perfectly fine, but he only stopped when he finally got a hold of the slip of paper he had been chasing.

He wasn’t too far away from us yet, the point I guessed was the shore of the lake Sam talked about. For a second I hoped that meant everything would be fine, but then I realized that the mist behind Dean probably wasn’t a normal kind of mist.

“Dean, careful, behind you!” I tried to warn him, but the mist was already materializing into the form of a young man. Tommy Prett’s hateful ghost.

Dean was already swearing loudly again, digging in his pockets for the piece of iron I knew was always there in case of a ghost hunt, but it was already too late. The ghost knocked him to the floor. Not with enough force to cause a serious injury, in any other case this probably wouldn’t have been a problem at all, not even worth a sideways glance, but here the ice beneath his feet gave an ominous creaking sound that made all of us flinch.

Apparently Dean finally got a hold of the small iron plate in his pocket and threw it at the spirit still after him. The ghost disappeared, at least for a short time. Hopefully enough time for him to get back here.

“Take slow steps, keep your feet wide apart so your weight’s not all at one point, got it?” Sam instructed with a voice that was strained in a way, that sounded like forced calm to me. I gulped and noticed that at one point my hand had gripped his arm tightly. Sam hadn’t shaken me off yet, so I kept holding on.

“I’m not an idiot.” Dean answered, but even his voice trembled in a mixture that was probably cold and fear, while he shuffled over the thin ice like a crab. The photo was still in his hand, now a tight little ball of paper.

“Dean!” Sam called again, alerted by another suspicious mist way to close to his brother for his taste.  
Before the ghost could fully materialize to strike again, Dean threw the ball of paper at our feet. “Burn it!” He ordered, still moving slowly, seemingly calm and in control.

I was already on my knees, opening the small slip of paper again, holding my lighter to it, but it was cold and wet, slow to catch fire, so the both of us could only watch how the ghost of Tommy threw Dean though the air.

The hunter didn’t even get a chance to stand again before the ghost was on him, screeching and pulling and hitting like a rabid animal. The ice creaked again and then there was loud splitting sound.

A clean line had formed in the dusting of snow that covered the ice. A crack spanned the whole surface of the lake and more were forming around Dean with every single move.

Finally the photo caught fire and the ghost with it. The howling sound Tommy made was truly otherworldly and full of pain while leaving this world for a second time.

For a split second I didn’t even realize what had happened. The ghost was gone, but so was Dean. The surface of the lake was once again silent and still like a postcard of the mountains in winter. I dropped the cindering remains of the picture and stared at Sam, lost.

“Dean! Dean?!” He screamed looking over the tracks in the snow before us, the signs of the fight that had been going on mere seconds ago completely vanished.

Where Dean had been standing, the ice was split into a thousand small pieces and large, jagged shards that looked sharp enough to cut through skin. It was only a few large steps away from the point we stood at, so close and still so far.

I didn’t know what to do. Dean could swim, I knew that, but the water had to be freezing. Did he lose consciousness? Was that why he wasn’t coming up again? Sam seemed to be in a similar state of shock, because he didn’t move from his spot next to me either.

Then there was another sharp sound in the air and the pieces of ice moved enough to reveal a searching hand. Soon another joined it and grasped for something solid to hold on to.

“Dean!” Sam screamed again and turned to me, his eyes wide. “Charlie, you’re lighter than me. Lay on the ice, flat on your stomach and help him get out. He needs to calm down and stop moving, okay? I’ll keep hold of your ankle and I won’t let go, no matter what happens, alright?”

Of course I was scared, but Dean would undoubtedly die in the water if no one helped him, and I trusted the Winchesters with my life, so I simply did as I was told.

Even through at least four layers of clothing the ice was cold while I laid on, robbing over it to reach my friend. Sam’s grip was strong and reassuring.

Dean had already breached the surface by the time I reached him, desperately grabbing at the thicker plates of ice surrounding him, breaking more of it in his wake. His breath was going fast and panicked, like he was still drowning and I could remember seeing a wildlife documentary where a deer drowned just like this, trapped by the shallow ice and his own flailing limbs.

I grabbed his hands, they felt even colder than the ice itself, wet and pink with his blood flowing rapidly to keep him from freezing. They were trembling and his eyes were wild and confused when they finally found mine.

“Dean, stop moving!” I ordered. I knew both of them well enough by now to know why orders worked so well with Dean and so badly with Sam. It wasn’t something I was comfortable with doing, but just as I had hoped, the blond hunter stopped his flailing and held onto me for dear life instead as soon as I demanded it.

“Good.” I said softly and pulled him closer slowly, until his whole upper body was laying on the still more or less solid part of the frozen lake. His trademark brown leather jacket was sopping wet and practically black with all the ice and water soaking the thick material. His trembling was getting weaker, I noticed and my worry spiked once again.

“Sam, pull!” I called back to the younger of the brothers and just as he had promised he pulled the both of us to shore with little struggle.

The ice was still creaking and shifting, especially beneath Dean’s heftier weight, but it didn’t break to drown us again. Soon I was enveloped by large and warm arms, Sam put me down again in the dusty snow and did the same for his brother.

I got up as fast as I could, my legs trembling more out of shock than actually being cold. Sam was crouched beside his older brother, who made no moves to get up, barely even trembling while lying in the snow.

Sam was trying to get him to talk, to stay awake, but Dean was scantly coherent enough to look at him while he was speaking.

At least Sam had no trouble with carrying his brother, although it did look highly uncomfortable for the both of them. Luckily the cabin wasn’t far from here and there were enough dry clothes and food to warm to make sure Dean would be fine at the end of the day.

Sam carried his brother upstairs and I started making coffee, quickly found some canned soup to warm up as well. That would help, right? Well at least I had something to do that way while Dean got out of the sopping wet and freezingly cold clothes.

As soon as I heard steps creaking on the wooden stairs, I whipped around and looked at the brown-haired hunter I was so familiar with by now that I would have called him my brother in a less serious situation.  
“How is he?” I asked him instead, concern written on my every feature.

“Hypothermia, his body temperature dropped pretty low because of his ice bath stint, but he’s going to be fine. Had a warm shower, a change of clothes and all the blankets I could find. It’s not so bad, some hot soup or something would be..”

I grinned and handed him a bowl. “Already done.” I answered him brightly and he nodded, taking the can of coffee upstairs with him.  
“You’re probably cold too, why don’t make yourself one too and come sit with us?” He said happily.

I nodded hastily, eager to see for myself how Dean was doing and sprinted up the stairs with a second bowl of soup in my hand.

Dean laid in the largest bed the small cabin held and was buried in a mountain of blankets, somehow, he still managed to look cold though. His face was flushed up to his ears and his hands trembled while they grabbed onto the bowl Sam handed him.

As soon as he noticed me the blond Winchester grinned. “Hey Charlie, thanks for the save.” His voice was welcoming and relaxed, a version of Dean I was well used to and lured me into relaxation with ease. I liked to call it big brother Dean and for once neither of the Winchesters seemed to mind it. Instead he patted the free space on the bed.

“Bah, the soup’s pretty gross.” Dean complained in his typical fashion and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it’s not the best, but at least it’s warm.” I answered with a shrug.  
“True, but you should try Bobby’s chicken soup sometime. Usually he’s a lousy cook, but his soup is fucking perfect.”

Nobody mentioned it ever again, but the three of us had the most comfortable nap ever on that bed, Dean tucked securely in the middle to help him warm up.  
The small scrapes and cuts left by the ice were already healed by the time we got back to the bunker.


	3. 2. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Animal attack / Fear of dogs / Ambush --- Dean, Sam, POV Jody
> 
> In this chapter we have a little blood/injuries and animal death, but it's pretty tame. Hope you enjoy, leave comments and kudos ;)  
> Sometimes a werewolf turns out to be a normal, feral bunch of dogs.

Since first getting acquainted with the hunting community I always kept close contact in one way or another. When Bobby was still alive that was easy. After our first unfortunate hunt together to save our hometown of Sioux Falls, he wasn’t just the town drunk for me anymore.

He was a nice man, that had lost a little too much and seen things that would get even the hardest men I knew to break down crying. If he chose to drink a little more than socially acceptable after that, it was fine by me. He did his job just fine, even like that.

His house was that of a messy on first glance, but everything had it’s order. It just wasn’t exactly visible for someone who wasn’t familiar with the things that go bump in the night. When he was working on a case, he always knew which pile of books he had to go digging in no matter what kind of creature he was looking for.

I put my trust in him whenever I found something on a case that didn’t quite look natural to me and he didn’t disappoint. He always provided a solution for the supernatural convicts I was confronted with on the job and it made my life much easier.

Then Bobby died. It was hard, I had grown fond of the old, quirky man in town, especially after losing my husband on that very first case. It had been our deepest connection, he had lost Karen in the same way after all. It was nice to have someone like him, helped me to cope with the loss and the new, darker side of my life.

It was much harder for his boys though. Sam and Dean were my go-to whenever Bobby was out of town, only a little younger than myself but very skilled hunters already. Bobby would have trusted them with his life, so I did the same thing without a doubt.

He told me a lot about them, that they grew up as a part of the whole hunting gig and all that. It was obvious that he wasn’t their father, they once mentioned John, but it wasn’t in a very fond way. I guess he wasn’t in the picture anymore, probably dead or maybe just an asshole.

In my opinion Bobby was a much better parent for them anyways. They were always happy to visit him here, no matter if it was for a case, research, or just some downtime. The brothers even called him uncle Bobby sometimes.

And the man always talks about them in return, about funny things from their childhood, cute teenage crushes they once had, stupid hunts they did together. If he weren’t such a gruff man, I bet he would have filled his home with pictures of them and shown me the most embarrassing ones at every chance he got.

But there were no pictures, because it was clear for me even without any of them saying anything out loud that they never had an easy happy going life that would have allowed for pictures like that.  
I briefly wondered if their real father had kept any pictures of his children, but that probably wasn’t the case if I was completely honest with myself.

So after Bobby’s untimely death I got to see the Winchesters a lot more. I texted and called them about all the strange things I found from then on, sometimes they would send a hunter they knew was close to investigate, but most of the times they showed up personally to check things out, distrustful bastards.

Oftentimes weird things turned out to be weird, but not necessarily supernatural. Sam assured me that was fine, better call one time to many than not enough, they couldn’t live with themselves anymore if anything would happen to me just because I hadn’t called them.

Dean’s agreement to that was so typical for him, because he said my cooking was worth the drive, no matter if there was a case or not.

It was nice to have dinner together, cooking for myself felt like a waste of time nowadays, but the Winchesters could eat for four people and in a weird way they began to feel like family, two annoying younger brothers I never had or something like that.

This time as well, I called them because of a case. I was unsure of myself, because the two victims we had were completely mauled, actually we were still looking for an arm.

The others in my precinct thought it was probably the local wolf pack or a stray bear, an animal attack, but I just couldn’t get it out of my head. The wolves had never attacked a person before, and they didn’t hunt that often, not two large prey animals a week at least and the bitemarks were way off for a bear.

I clearly remembered books about werewolves at Bobby’s and I couldn’t help the comparison to this case. In the end I called the brothers. Neither of them minded coming over for a werewolf hunt and I made sure to cook a good dinner for em.

On the next evening we started our hunt in the forest. It was a large terrain, very dense in the part we found the bodies at. The three of us were ready for a long night.

“I’m still not sure what we’re looking for.” Sam muttered displeased. He was never happy to go without a plan, even I knew that. “It doesn’t line up, I’m pretty sure it’s not actually a werewolf, both victims still had their hearts.”

“So what, if it’s not a werewolf it’s probably a real wolf, nothing we couldn’t deal with.” Dean answered dismissive and I couldn’t help myself with my own answer: “But this doesn’t fit a wolf pack either.”

“What, so wolves can’t break their pattern, get hungry twice a week and change their meal plan a little.” I knew he was trying to provoke me or to make fun of the situation because he didn’t have an idea what else we could be dealing with either.  
“I’m not saying they can’t, I’m just saying it’s highly unrealistic. Humans aren’t their typical prey, obviously, or they would be extinct already.” I bickered back and was again reminded of my train of thought that they really were my annoying brothers by now.

Before our discussion could further escalate there was a loud bark to our right. The three of us collectively stared in the direction for a second and went quiet instantly.

“Wolves can’t bark.” Sam whispered. “Maybe a dogwalker?” I said back, as quiet as possible. “Could be our next victim if we’re not careful, should check in, send them home.” Dean commanded, the unofficial leader of our team. All three of us gave a short nod of understanding and hurried into the direction of the barking with soft steps to not attract whatever we were hunting.

When we reached the clearing there sat a little dog all by himself. The brothers and me made eye contact before Sam shrugged and stepped closer to the animal, crouching low and calling him.

“Hey there, come here boy, where’s your human, hm?” He said softly and I couldn’t help the grin that spread over my face. So the youngest Winchester liked dogs, how cute.

Opposing to that Dean mainly ignored the small creature, his back rigid, full attention on his brother and his surroundings. He had his guard up. Maybe it was just because we were on a hunt, a real professional, but it probably wasn’t exactly Dean’s thing to cuddle with animals of any kind. I just couldn’t picture it in my head if you know what I mean.

The dog didn’t move closer to Sam, not even after minutes of coaxing and talking, staying absolutely still. “Maybe he’s scared? His owner could be dead already, or perhaps he’s a stray or something and has nothing to do with the case at all.” The tall hunter concluded.

Suddenly there was another loud bark right behind us, but I didn’t even get the time to turn around before a hefty weight hit my back and I landed face first on the forest floor. There was a sharp pain in my side and when I turned to look at the injury, I saw a large brown creature, tightly bitten into my flesh. I screamed in pain and tried to kick it, but it barely even moved, only lodging it’s teeth deeper.

Another one of those… those things buried it’s teeth into my arm and for a second I thought I was going to die, that those beasts would kill me, but there was a gunshot and suddenly the larger thing at my side dropped dead, the other one letting go as well, probably scared and running after the shot fired.

Maybe I lost consciousness for a bit, but it could’ve also just been shock, but when my senses returned, I looked at the dead thing by my side. It was a large.. a dog? It could certainly be mistaken for a wolf or even a wild beast out of a horror movie, but in the end, it was nothing but a stray dog. So it had to be a pack of wild dogs we were hunting and they… They ambushed us, even using one of their own as bait? That was definitely a surprise.

But now wasn’t really the moment to think about that, right? The pain was still sharp and I carefully put pressure on the bleeding wound while I started to look around.

Sam was still in the middle of the clearing, where the small decoy dog had been, only that it was replaced by a really really big dog now. He was basically wrestling with the wild animal, that was firmly attached to his right arm.

His right arm.. He had definitely been the one that had fired the shot that saved me, but now the weapon was nowhere to be seen. It was probably lying on the ground somewhere now that a dog had attacked him.

There was a loud noise, screaming that wasn’t my own and I turned my head to the left, where Dean laid.

The blond was surrounded by no less than five dogs, all in varying states of biting into his flailing limbs. I pulled my own gun with the hand that wasn’t pressing into my wounded side and tried to aim, but I was shaking and the only thing I would reach with firing was harming the hunter even further.

Sam was screaming his brother’s name, but he probably couldn’t hear it over his own noise and the murderous dogs currently mauling him.

Another gunshot ripped through the night air, followed by two more and then there was only silence. Two furry bodies laid still half atop the older Winchester while the other three scurried back into the thick under bush of the forest.

There was a defeated yowl from Sam’s direction, he probably finally managed to kick his attacker off and stumbled in the direction of his brother. I would bet on it that he didn’t want to actually hurt the animals, but the need to help his family won out in the end. I got on my knees and did the same.

By the time I reached them Dean was already pushing the dead dogs off himself with one arm, the other buried beneath his own body protectively. He was basically smeared in blood from head to toe, most of it probably his own.

“Shit Jody, you good?” Sam asked, his pained voice apology enough. For me it was only logical that he checked on Dean first, not just because he was his brother, but also because Dean was obviously injured more seriously. It is basic triage, simple as that. Still, Sam felt bad about it, so I tried to calm him.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad. I’ll call emergency services now.” I was already typing while I was still trying to get a good look at Dean. Sam nodded shortly before he got up and pulled the dead animals away, so he could fully see the extent of Dean’s injuries.

I stepped back a little for the call. At least this was something we could actually explain to the EMTs and the police unlike most other hunts that went south in the Winchester business.

“Sheriff Jody Mills here, we got an emergency. I was investigating our case in the forest with the agents Page and Plant, I bet we found our culprits, were attacked by a bunch of wild dogs, range from serious to mild injuries, request an ambulance.” I rattled down quickly.

“Of course sheriff, stay calm, we’ll need a while to get there, you can manage first aid?” The speaker answered in a well-trained air of calmness.  
“Yes, we’re fine for now, but the dogs are still running wild, you should call out a warning or something until they’re not a problem anymore.”  
“Will do, stay on the line, we’ll find your coordinates.”

I thanked them and pocketed the phone still on call so I could get back to my fellow hunters.

Dean was laying on his side now, looking a little more comfortable with his head pillowed on his brother’s ruined flannel. “Hey there, you with us champ?” I asked the blond who hummed in agreement. Not that good of a sign, a lightly injured Dean is always a cocky Dean, making fun of his own situation, if he was quiet like that he had to be in a serious amount of pain.

His shirt was pretty much ripped to pieces, scratches all over his torso, his arms looked pretty bad and were already starting to bruise underneath the superficial layer of blood. It was already starting to cloth und dry parts were flaking off, so that would be fine in a few days I estimated.

“One of the fuckers tried to go for my neck, can you believe that? I thought only lions did that.” Dean muttered, he looked tired. After his words I tried to get a look of his neck and yeah, those scratches were definitely teeth marks, I bet that fucking hurt.

“Nah, actually most pack hunters do that, don’t let go and kill the prey fast.” Sam sniggered softly from his place at the elder’s legs. His own arm was wrapped in the remains of his jacket messily, that was probably a real nasty bite.

I tried to get comfortable and ended up leaning to the side awkwardly, hell, my stomach hurt, that dog really hadn’t planned to let go again no matter how hard I kicked it. Looking back to where I came from for a second, I found it, still lying there in it’s own puddle of blood.

Sam was pressing down on his brother’s leg with the one working arm he currently had and I inspected the wound we were dealing with as far as I could. It was definitely the worst injury, because at first I had assumed it was the blood of the dead dogs, but in reality it was all Dean’s. Sam even tied his belt around the bleeding upper thigh.

Apparently the thick jeans had done nothing to deter the dog of biting down again and again. I carefully reached out to touch and Dean flinched violently as soon as I pulled the fabric out of the wound. It didn’t look that deep, but it was a massive amount of ripped open flesh, practically all around his thigh.

Yeah, that was definitely an injury that could even keep Dean Winchester down for a while I thought, but as soon as there was the distant sound of barking the blond hunter was pulling away from his brother and tried to get up hastily.

“Dean, you need to stay down, you’ll bleed more like that!” Sam was desperately trying to get a grip on him again, but Dean was dead set on running, a response I had never seen on him like that before.

“No, they’ll come again, they won’t leave me alone.” The other protested in an obviously panicked state.  
I was on my feet in seconds and tried to help Sam in his endeavor to stop his brother. “No Dean, they won’t come again, they’re scared. Help will be here shortly, you need to calm down again.” Hell, Dean’s breathing was basically hyperventilating by now.

Sam finally got a good grip on a space on his brother’s arm that wasn’t cut open, so he carefully guided him back down. I went with them easily and offered Dean my lap. “Come here, everything’ll be fine.” I tried to sooth him and with only a little bit of struggle the blonde’s head laid on my lap, where he wouldn’t hurt his own neck further. A spinal injury really was the last thing we needed here.

Dean was shaking, he was definitely in a physical state of shock, no doubt about that, but he was also scared, and I had never seen Dean scared before now. I had hunted several weird things together with Bobby and the Winchester boys before, but Dean was used to that, he didn’t get scared except for someone else’ sake as far as I knew.

I sent a questioning glance in Sam’s direction, hoping for an explanation. “He’s scared of dogs.” The brown-haired man answered quietly, not wanting to aggravate Dean further and yeah, the Dean I knew definitely wouldn’t like his sibling talking about the “idiotic” fears he had.

Of course I would never call the fears of an other stupid, but Dean certainly would, especially his own fears.

But typically the fear of dogs tended to have a reason and I sent Sam a glance that asked the question I couldn’t voice out loud: Why?

“When you go to hell before your natural death, after a deal, you know, you get dragged down by hellhounds.” He whispered close to my ear and I nodded silently. I knew of Dean’s deal and his time in hell, it was something that seriously gnawed at Bobby so he had to talk about it to someone. There was no one I could’ve told, I only knew them in the hunting community, so he felt safe enough to tell me.

“But honestly, he was scared of them before that. I can’t remember, but it’s not unlikely that one attacked him when we were little. A lot of shit happened to him when we were young, sometimes I’m surprised he doesn’t have more fears like this one.” The younger confessed in a tired voice.

Dean groaned in my lap and lifted a hand to bat at his brother. “Don’t say shit like that. I’m hurt, not deaf, you know.” He said in a tone that was bordering on mocking. It was nice in weird way, like Dean was saying he trusted me enough to let Sam tell me about whatever he wanted to tell.

That was something really special from a guarded man like Dean, I knew that.

Before things could get anymore sentimental the sounds of a siren became audible, they had to be close, so I pulled the phone from my pocket again.

“We can hear the ambulance now, is it fine to hang up now?” I asked and the responder agreed, wishing us all a fast recovery as the call ended.

Only a few minutes later the EMTs were by our side and helped us to the closest road. They were quick to lay Dean down on the stretcher and hook us all up on IVs. The pain medicaments were a relief, but the warmth in the car after the blood loss felt even better.

Sam was well enough to sit in the front on the drive back to the hospital and shared all the medical information they needed with the doctors as soon as we reached the emergency room.

Both Dean and I went through minor surgery after that, Sam was fine with a few stiches. In the end there would barely be any scars left and the Winchester brothers spent two months in my home to fully recover.  
Honestly, they kind of were fond memories by now.


	4. 3. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make an example out of them / Hanging / Strangling --- Dean, Ellen, Jo, POV Sam
> 
> Warning for an attempted execution, also this is not a John friendly fic  
> Some hunters plan to end the curse of the Winchester name

Dean and I were trying to solve some cases in Nebraska and there was only one place in Nebraska we were interested in staying at, even if that meant a longer commute to the places we got to go to.

The Roadhouse was a surprisingly nice place. Well, technically it was your typical roadside bar, that conveniently served enough greasy food to be considered a restaurant on top of that, but after a while the place began to feel homely, even to our vagabond lifestyle.

The majority of that feeling probably sprouted out of the fact that all patrons were involved in the hunter business one way or another. There was no hiding or lying in that kind of tight-knit community. The people there actually knew the daily struggle of fighting the ridiculously overpowered supernatural and oftentimes the consequences the human law system tried to bring with our actions.

It was nice, supportive and information was given around freely. Information, the key to survival in this line of work. The familial feeling made it easy to forget the stained tables, the greasy food, (that Dean in fact loved very much) the smoky stench and the overall shabbiness of the establishment.

On top of all that, Ellen and Jo were incredibly sweet people. It was so frustrating to know that our own father had partly ruined their lives, but even though they knew about it, they had forgiven us easily after working their first case as a team with the remaining two Winchesters.

John knew such a community existed and still, he chose to do everything on his own instead, bringing all of us into dangerous situations that could have been avoidable in my eyes. Just because he was too stubborn and paranoid to work together with someone else.

And when he actually tried to, he always fucked it up somehow, because no one in the Roadhouse liked to hear the name Winchester spoken aloud.

I tried to befriend as many people as possible here, because maybe, one day, they would be the ones that saved us. We just needed to work a little harder than dad to not actively make new enemies, that should be easy enough, right?

Dean on the other hand was always naturally good at making friends. There were few people he consciously disliked, it was the same with the Roadhouse as it had been in high school. But he was also oddly distanced from most people here, because Dean was ridiculously loyal to our father, even after everything that man had put him through.

Whenever another rant about John Winchester came up, Dean would smile in that fake, plastic way of his, laugh it off and leave shortly after.

I knew what he was trying to do. He didn’t want to pick a fight with these people, but he also desperately wanted to defend dad’s actions.

It was laughable in my eyes. It was undeniable that our father had been an asshole to most of these people first and he wasn’t any better with his own friends and family most of the time, so why even defend him? He was dead anyways, no honor left to protect and all that, so what if these hunters wanted to gossip a little about a mean old man?

I didn’t bring it up. It wasn’t like Dean would talk it out anyways, so I saved both of us some time with it.

Maybe I should have brought up it with Ellen instead, because beneath the woman’s gruff exterior she was actually a pretty reasonable person. She was the wife of a hunter and after his death a single mother that lived alone with a little girl and the knowledge that the supernatural was lurking out there in the shadows.

Although she was a woman, every single buff hunter accepted that she was the boss as long as they hung around in her bar, nobody even dared to get a little rowdy around her and Jo was absolutely tabu, even though she was young and blond and pretty, all the things these men probably carved to get their hands on. The fear of Ellen’s wrath was enough to keep them in check.

So yes, she had all the experience with this community Dean and I lacked, if there was anybody I could bother with my questions, it would have been her.

She was emotive enough to discuss the difficult relationship we had towards John and could understand Dean’s loyalty even though she felt only hatred concerning that man. And she knew the hunters here like the content of her back pocket. Because yeah, Dean was definitely in the wrong while defending dad, but these guys were also kind of assholes rubbing it in whenever our last name was brought up.

I always hated situations like this. Nobody would be happy with the outcome in the end, I just knew it and still, I did nothing at all about it, a mistake I came to severely regret.

After our third week around we have gotten quite comfortable. The motel room wasn’t so bad this time, a little tacky, mountain themed walls, but it was clean, the soap smelled good and the Roadhouse was in walking distanced. Most evenings found us sitting at the same table at the Harvelle’s place, eating dinner.

It was the routine that gave us away, because the group of hunters was already awaiting us in the darkened parking lot as we left the Roadhouse through the back entrance, closer to our motel.

We were bickering about something, I couldn’t really remember, but it was probably something stupid, like why Metallica sucks, or which blond actress was the hottest or something like that, topics we always ended up with after a good meal and enough drinks to get us tipsy.

Before I even knew what had happened, I hit the pavement face first, scraping my cheek and the bridge of my nose painfully. My head was pounding hard enough to get the corners of my vision to get a little fuzzy, but I was still able to hear Dean scream in anger and shock while I felt his weight drop to the concrete next to my own body. 

His limps were shaking like crazy and I tried to make sense of what was going on. There was a pair of boots in front of my face, a crowbar dangling next to them. Ah, that was probably what hit my head, and my brother’s convulsions and the barely coherent curses falling from his lips meant they also had a taser. Great.

I tried to get up, but felt another set of feet pinning my upper body to the ground, a hand holding my head down, once again pressing my nose into the dirt. Dean was still jerking, but apparently still fitter than me somehow, because he staggered to his legs erratically, a move that quickly had two other guys on him, literally tackling him into the nearest car.

I tried to tilt my head, asses how many people were here. Were they even people? Or did some kind of monster get a whiff of the Roadhouse and the threat it could be?

There were probably two or even three people on my back, a man standing next to me and then there were another two kicking the shit out of Dean over there. Five or more? Then I recognized one of them. Hunters, they were hunters…

I wasn’t really able to process that information, shock or a concussion were both realistic possibilities to that, but I didn’t want to think about it any longer. Well, not that I was able to do much thinking to begin with.

I felt hands guide my arms back until they were bound elbow to wrist. It looked like these guys weren’t willing to take any risks, because I felt even more hands fumble with my clothes until the gun hidden by my jacket and both of my emergency knifes were gone.

Dean wasn’t doing so hot either. The two males had him pinned in much the same position as me by the time I looked back in the direction of my older brother. A woman showed up next to them, her name was Sandy, a little older than Ellen, but as tough as nails. Until now I had looked up to her in a weird way, female hunters were rather rare after all.

I tried to ask them why they were doing this, what we had done, put my questions were ignored. These were the people I had tried to befriend over the course of the last weeks, I had put my trust in them…

I tried to fight them off again with desperation while Sandy took her time to filch Dean of every single weapon he hid on his body. In the end it was an impressive little pile by his side, the paranoid bastard. Not that all the knives and guns were of much help with our hands tied.

Dean’s voice was getting steadier, the aftereffects of the taser slowly lessening, and with it he got louder. My head was pounding and definitely hated the noise, but maybe Ellen or Jo would hear us?

Malcom, the youngest hunter of the group was quick to muffle Dean’s calls after that with his hand. It didn’t take long until the black-haired boy was screaming, falling to his knees, Dean’s pale face smeared with blood glinting ominously in the moonlight, grinning like he was daring them to try again.  
He probably bit a considerable part of flesh out of that hand, in Malcom’s defense.

The man I vaguely recognized as Micky, unshaven with hair just a little too long and too greasy, answered this little act of rebellion with a gun pressed to Dean’s cheek, that finally got him to shut up.

I felt hands on my arms again, pulling me upwards until I was standing, flanked by two men I couldn’t actually see, but already knew were Piff and Steven, that only left Margret to be standing at my back, pressing another gun between my shoulder blades.

Again, I tried to ask the familiar group of hunters why they were doing this, but no one opened their mouths as they pushed me towards Piff’s car and opened the trunk, except for Dean.

“Don’t hurt him, he didn’t do anything, whatever this is, we can talk it out, but hell, just let him go already.” My brother tried to plead with them, but once again we were ignored and the group pushed me forwards into the tight space. I nearly hit my head again, but after a second or so of lying down it was manageable. Thank god for America’s large cars.

The second group of people hoisted Dean up from the concrete, using much more force then with my relatively compliant body, yeah that was definitely a concussion, by now my whole neck felt hot and stick with what was probably my own blood.

They led Dean to another car, which my brother didn’t seem to like one single bit. The last thing I heard before the trunk was slammed shut in my face was him screaming my name, more panicked then I’d heard him since the day I died and he literally sold his soul to get me back.

I tried to concentrate on the drive to wherever it was they were taking us, but my whole effort ended up barely keeping me conscious. I lost sense of time, I couldn’t keep track of how the car moved to determine the terrain we were in, in the end I had nothing, other than an unsettling feeling of panic and nausea.

The sudden stop of the truck jerked me back to wakefulness quite effectively, but on the other hand it nearly had me losing my dinner. The fresh nighttime air helped a little as soon as the trunk was opened again.

I didn’t get much time to breath though, Steven and Piff were by my side way too soon again and pried my out of the tight boot even while I was trying with all my might to stay there a little longer.

Hell, it was uncomfortable and cramped but probably still better than whatever the older hunters were planning to do. I let my defenses drop unintentionally while I heard the rumble of another engine close by. The buff men used their chance excellently und pulled me out, dragging my uncooperative legs over the dirty ground until they reached the spot they had been aiming for and dropped me like a rotten sack of potatoes.

It was a tree. Actually, there were trees all around, the earth covered in fallen leaves and the smell of moss was thick in the air. A forest then, dark except for the headlights of both cars. The second car which came to a stop only to reveal the other three hunters, that pulled Dean out of their trunk with the gun still pressed to his body.

They pulled him to another tree, but Dean still relaxed as soon as he caught my gaze, realizing that nothing bad had happened while we’d been apart.

Margret was busy with binding me to the tree. It wasn’t very thick, not broad enough to comfortably lean on it, but the wood was still strong enough that it left my unable to move from my spot.

After Steven had looked my bindings over and was satisfied with their tightness all three of them stepped back and went over to Dean, who was sitting on the damp leaves a little awkwardly now two sets of guns pointed at his torso.

He looked small in the dark forest, surrounded by six hunters, but Dean was never any good at accepting defeat. “So, you finally gonna tell us what this is all about?” He provoked them.

Micky laughed before he placed his foot on the center of my brother’s chest to push him down onto his back, with his arms bound and helpless like a little bug about to be squashed. He gave an undignified squawk at the move, before growling deeply.

“You’re Winchesters. You brothers just show up at the Roadhouse as if you deserve a place among us, even after what your father did to the Harvelles. You act like you’ve never done any bad, all friendly and bubbly with us.” Micky growled right back at him and Dean gave an annoyed sound right back.

“What’s wrong with that, huh? Dad didn’t want to be part of the community and we do, never heard of familial differences? You shouldn’t stick your noses into things that don’t concern you, what’s between Ellen and us isn’t your business and the Roadhouse isn’t your personal hunting ground either, get used to it.” Was Dean’s hissed answer.

Malcom’s hand was bandaged thickly by now, that didn’t stop him from pulling a knife out of his belt threateningly.

“None of our business you say? So you think it’s none of our business that John Winchester’s actions killed Piff’s daughter, Margret’s sister, Steven’s wife and doomed Micky’s whole family? It’s not our business that Sandy lost a freaking arm on a hunt with that asshole and I laid in a coma for a year! He left William to die, he pulled stunts like that every single time he worked together with someone! He’s a liar and a traitor! We don’t need someone like him in our community!” The youngest of the group ranted until Margret put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“He’s dead!” I screamed at them. My headache spiked in response, but at least they backed off of Dean a little to look back at me. “I know he was a bad person and I am sorry for all of your losses, but John’s dead, there’s nothing you’ll reach with hurting us in his stead.” I pleaded with them.

“You’re wrong Sam. There is something we can gain from this. Winchester blood never does anybody any good. We’ll end your cursed bloodline once and for all tonight. We’ll make an example out of you. No one betrays another hunter, because this is what happens to traitors.” Piff said in a voice that was much too calm for the words he was sprouting.

“This is nonsense and you know it! Sam never wanted to be a hunter in the first place, dad forced him to, he didn’t do anything bad! You only want to take your hate out on someone because John’s not around anymore, you want your revenge! Let him go, if you wanna have a round with me that’s fine.” Dean didn’t plead, he was screaming full of anger, demanding.

Steve kneeled down next to my brother after that, grinning like he was arguing with a kid, something beneath him. Malcom handed him the knife so he started cutting his shirt away. The move got Dean to squirm miserably, Sandy stepped on his shoulder to stop the movement.

Margret and Piff went over to the cars, probably to get some stuff while Steven had my brother’s chest exposed to the cold air and set the knife on his collarbone. The first cut had Dean squirming again, so Malcom was the next in line to set his foot down on the other shoulder to keep him pinned.

Stave continued like a man on a mission and I was talking nonsense to try and stop them, to get them to show some sympathy, but the hunters were deaf to our begging, the hatred towards John strong enough to kill all the mercy they once had.

I was close enough to see the knife moving in small lines over my brother’s chest, but the four people blocked my view of what was actually going on. All I knew was that Dean was struggling to keep his noise in check, unwilling to let them hear his screams.

Only when they stepped back to help Piff and Margret with the rope they were bringing from the car did I see what Steven had done. The name Winchester was carved into the pectoral of my brother, as if it was a brand for something bad and for these hunters it definitely was, that was probably the most painful thing about this situation as a whole.

I already hated John, but to know that he was able to ruin our lives even from the grave was bitter. It was even shittier because I just knew that it hurt Dean so much more, he was actually proud of the name, of his heritage somehow. To have it written down on him like a curse was just plain cruel, but that was exactly what these people were aiming for…

Well next to killing us of course, the next step in their plan if the noose they were currently hanging on a sturdy branch was anything to go by.

The rope was short as they placed a chair beneath it, much too short to snap someone’s neck, the merciful way for hanging people, because it was fast and painless. A short rope meant suffering, dying of strangulation could take up to twenty minutes from what I knew, a practice that was outdated since the goddamn medievals.

It looked like that was something Dean knew just as well as me, because he was struggling all the while the four people surrounding him tried to get him to his feet again.

He put up a valiant fight, a kick to the groin sending Steven to the ground. He bit Micky’s forearm and didn’t let go until the man had punched him about five times and finally dragged him to that dreaded chair.

Dean screamed and cursed at them, but there was nothing stopping them anymore. Sandy was the one to fit the noose around his neck, a broad grin covering her face while she gave his cheek a strong pat, as if saying goodbye to a rabid hound about to be put down. My brother acted that part pretty well, desperate to stay alive, or at least scared enough of his death to fight it.

Only when the hands started to let go of him and he was standing on the chair on his own did he go still, turning his eyes to me. “Don’t look Sammy, don’t look.” His voice was soft and shaky, the first plea falling from the older Winchester’s lips, the first sign that he was scared.

I felt Malcom crouch next to me, the only one not by Dean’s side for the whole ordeal. “If you look away, I’ll cut him down from that tree and make sure that the only thing left to even identify him by will be the last name carved into his flesh, do you understand Sammy?” The words were whispered in a threatening tone, mocking Dean for the childhood nickname he called me by. 

“They’ll still know it was you boys, because you will hand right next to him when we’re done.” He said that like it was supposed to be cheering me up. I kept my thoughts to myself and simply stared at my brother when the group finally pushed the chair out from under him.

The hunters were cheering and laughing while Dean dangled in the air, his legs kicking, searching for purchase while the rope around his neck tightened with his own weight hanging from it, strangling him.

His head was pushed to the side in an awkward angle until he ended up staring at the bare branches, that held his noose. I could see him open his mouth, a painfilled sound escaping his lips at first until there were only strangled little noises, because there just wasn’t enough air left for more than that.

Tears were literally squeezed out of his eyes by the rope strangling him. It was too dark too see his eyes, but I knew that the blood vessels there were the first to pop in a process like this. I felt my own eyes water.

Malcom showed me his watch. “He’s going strong, nearly seven minutes now, that’s good. You know, I bet with the others that he’ll make it longer than you, you’re taller.” The younger man by my side joked and I grit my teeth. If it weren’t for the small wheezing sounds my brother regularly produced while hanging over there, I would have thought he was dead by now, his movement was getting twitchy rather than actively trying to find purchase somewhere.

Apparently Piff was bored enough to already start with the second noose. I couldn’t hold my tears back anymore and Malcom started to laugh again.

All of them were talking and laughing and seemingly having fun while torturing us, like this was some kind of feast for the hunters, so by the time they finally heard the rumbling of another car it was too late to react.

A familiar truck pulled up next to their cars and the Harvelles sprang out of it, shotguns brandished. Ellen fired a shot into thin air that got everyone to fall still.

“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing here?!” She screamed at the group. Nobody dared to move, so she gestured towards Jo. “Go, get him down there, hurry!” She instructed her daughter, falling in line behind her, pointing her gun at every hunter she passed by, ending her trip with pressing the barrel to Micky’s breastbone.

Jo let her own gun drop carelessly, pulling the chair over so she could reach the noose, picking a knife from her coat to cut it. She wasn’t really strong enough to catch Dean’s weight, but the drop wasn’t that big and lying on the ground was currently much better than hanging up there.

The blond scrambled to the floor right after him, pulling the rope loose from my brother’s raw flesh. His breathing was rasping loudly, but at least it was audible and deep again, actually ensuring some airflow after being strangled for nearly ten minutes straight. He didn’t move from his crumbled position so Jo picked her shotgun up again, protectively crouching atop her fallen friend.

As her daughter’s position was secured Ellen stepped back slowly and turned in my direction, pointing her gun at Malcom. Her hand sign was clear and the younger hunter obediently stepped back, his hands raised unthreateningly so the owner of the Roadhouse could make her way over to my side, cutting me lose next.

We stood up together, returning to both blondes in the middle of the group.

“Why Ellen? You know what the Winchesters did to us, you know why we need to do this!” Margret finally pleaded with the women trying to protect me and my brother.

“Sam and Dean did nothing to hurt me or you.” She countered and Micky began to laugh anew, Ellen instantly jerking her gun to point back at him. “Not yet, but egoism and betrayal run in their blood.” From his mouth it sounded like it was the most reasonable thing ever said. Jo held her handgun out to me. I took it with a short nod of understanding, placing myself at Dean’s back while she took his front.

“There’s a difference between supernatural and superstition, you know? There is no thing like “the cursed Winchester blood”. John was an asshole to all of us, including his own sons, that’s all there is to say. Leave these boys alone and never come back to my fucking home, you understand?!” Ellen hissed at them.

Sandy cocked her gun and in turn had three pointed back at her. “Sandy, please stop this nonsense! Neither mom nor me want to hurt any of you, but we will if we have to! They’re family now.” Jo pleaded with the older woman.

A shot ripped through the air and Jo hit the ground with a scream next to a barely conscious Dean, clutching her bloody shoulder. I turned and found Malcom standing to the side, his pistol still smoking. It was Micky that fired back. The younger man was dead before he even hit the ground.

Ellen screamed in pure anger, putting pressure on the shoulder of her daughter, thank god that it was only her shoulder.

The others stood motionless for a second before sharing a glance. Piff, Steven and Sandy all disappeared without looking back. Micky and Margret stepped closer, so I pointed Jo’s gun at them until they sat down, hands in the air to calm us a little.

Ellen shed her jacket to bind it around her daughter’s shoulder as sporadic first aid, but at least Jo was well enough to sit up with help afterwards, so Ellen went over to Dean to check his pulse.

Margret was apologizing softly all the while, but we ignored her in favor of tending our own wounds first. Finally, Micky spoke up again.  
“I’m sorry Ellen. I really thought we were doing the right thing. I thought you would be glad to have them off your back after William, that their presence hurt you like it hurt us. We never wanted to hurt you or Jo.” He tried to explain his reasoning, but Ellen only scoffed.

“But you did. Not only did you hurt these boys, but on top of that one of you also just shot my daughter! If you at least tried to get to know them, you’d understand why I came to like them, because they are nothing like their father, but it looks like at one point you all became the things that you are supposed to be hunting. Now go, if I ever see any of you again, I’ll shoot you. And take that pile of shit over there with you!”

Ellen chewed the remaining two hunters out and pointed at the body of Malcom. Margret was crying, but none of us felt merciful enough after what they’d done to accept her apologies anymore.

Mickey nodded, dragging the woman next to him to her feet and packed to body into the trunk Dean had laid in not all that long ago.

After everything was calm, we took our time. Dean was somewhat conscious, although his voice didn’t really work, a thick blue band forming all around his throat, at least where the skin wasn’t rubbed bloody.

I was glad that he was well enough the get up with only a little help, same with Jo. This was nothing we couldn’t fix at the Roadhouse.

We didn’t return to the motel except for a short visit to get our stuff. Instead we shared Jo’s bed above the bar while she slept next to her mother for a while. It was nice… To be accepted as someone’s family after six people with the same fate as the Harvelles had shown us how some people dealt with their hatred towards our name.

It felt like forgiveness for all the mistakes we felt guilty for even though they weren’t our fault to begin with, it felt like trust after being rejected by hunters much more experienced then us, it felt safe, because even though we had been betrayed by people that were supposed to be like us, that were supposed to be supportive, there was a place we could return to.

I spent three days throwing everything up I ate, not because of the concussion, but because I couldn’t get the picture of my brother hanging by a noose and kicking his legs helplessly while his death was stretched over long painful minutes out of my head. The sounds a human being produced while strangled were haunting.

But Dean was doing great. His neck looked horrible, his voice was shot to hell for weeks, but other than that he looked like the near-death experience barely even fazed him.

The only thing that really hurt him were their words, because from time to time I would catch him, reverently touching his chest were our name was carved, the scars light and barley even visible anymore, his touch lingering just a little too long.

A brand that called: “Make an example out of the traitor” To nobody but Dean himself.


	5. 4. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infection / Reopening old wounds --- Missouri, POV Dean
> 
> Graphic descriptions of burns and blood, Dean is generally not having a good time at all, shortly before the beginning of the series

If I was supposed to be completely honest with myself, maybe I would be able to admit that the last week, hell, probably the whole last month, sucked. But as I am Dean Winchester, oldest son of John Winchester, master of denial and suppression of my own wishes, it was clear that I would never say a thing like that out loud.

I celebrated my twenty-sixth birthday on my own, just like the other two before then. This year though, I couldn’t even get myself to go to a bar and flirt with a girl by saying, that yes, it’s my birthday and where’s my present *wink.

Astonishingly that had always somehow worked out. Sometimes I began to wonder if maybe Sam was right all along and my standards in women were kind of low. Well, now was not the best time to think about that anyways.

I had been head over heels buried in cases from dad in the last few weeks, so there wasn’t much time to celebrate in the first place, that way it didn’t really matter that I didn’t feel up to partying, right? Was I making excuses? Sam would definitely say I was making excuses. Why was I thinking about Sam so goddamn much recently?? It wasn’t like we had been talking, the last call was probably three months in the past by now.

Yeah, my best guess was that this is the exact reason I’m thinking about my little brother so often.

I wanted to see him. It has been nearly two years since the last time I actually saw him face to face and four since he left for Stanford. But if Sam didn’t want to see me, I would respect that. Hell, I was happy enough if he only took my calls, something that didn’t always happen and inevitably made me ask myself what I did to make Sam resent me so much.

It probably wasn’t even really my fault, at least I knew Sam would say something like that, it was the fact that in the end I would always take dad’s side and if there are two things that don’t match in this world, they’re Sam and John Winchester.

It’s surprising that they share at least half their DNA, because they have exactly zero understanding for each other in any way of the word.

Speaking of dad: Other than for giving me new jobs he hadn’t called either. He probably forgot and yes, that was probably another excuse, but whatever, I’m no psychologist.

On top of all that personal drama shit the last hunt kind of went.. I’d call it suboptimal… It was a Wendigo and it did all the typical Wendigo things, like kidnapping humans to slowly eat them in his creepy cave in the middle of the woods.

Hunting on my own was fine, I was good at it, at least at the physical part of it and either Dad or Bobby knew they had to help out from time to time with the research part, but they could do that just fine from afar, wherever they were at the moment, so that was good.

But Wendigos are tricky fuckers because you have to burn them alive. It’s not something that works well all on your own.

The Wendigo’s dead, that’s all that matters in the end. Sadly both it’s victims were already just as dead by the time I found them and on top of that I burnt my own arms to a crisp like a newbie on his very first Wendigo hunt.

All in all, the hunt sucked big time and it was hard to explain where burns come from without a fire to report, so I couldn’t really go to A&E. It’s not like I could point them to the dead Wendigo’s cave, where two human bodies still waited to be found.

It’s fine, I can deal with a few burns on my own, nothing I hadn’t done before. For a while it looked like they were healing on their own and after two weeks the first blisters started to close up. It was itchy as hell, that’s good, right?

And then my right arm began to hurt real bad, the still open patches of skin were wet and the parts that were already more or less healed over started swelling, red like fresh burns again and honestly, the pain was kind of overwhelming.

I played with the thought of going to the nearest hospital, but it wasn’t that bad, right? The fever was low, barely more temperature than normal and I was still cognizant, the range of movement in my hand seemed fine…

And then my phone pinged, a message from Dad, another hunt, something about ghosts or voodoo. The thought of the emergency room was gone already and I started my research.

I didn’t really get what I was looking at, I felt exhausted, my brain even slower than usual, so I started thinking about reasonable alternatives and realized where I was. Pretty close to Lawrence Kansas, that means close to Missouri, the queen of ghosts and voodoo shit!

Missouri Moseley wasn’t someone I went to often, she was a close contact of dad, not exactly a friend and she wasn’t a hunter either, but a psychic. It was a little weird in my opinion, but she was always friendly when we went there, at least to Sam and me, and she really knows what she’s talking about when it comes to the supernatural.

I quickly dialed her number, hoping she was even still living in Kansas. She picked up after only two rings. “Hey Missouri, Dean here, you still remember me?” I asked, trying to sound polite.

“Our course Dean, how could I forget. What is it you want?” The elder woman sounded happy to hear me, although my first impulse was to ask why she assumed I wanted something from her? Was it because she’s a psychic or because my dad was a demanding man, that would never call without wanting something…?

“Just wanted to ask if you still live in your old home. I’m close, wanted to ask a few questions. And maybe crash for the night?” I told her and felt my cheeks warm. My funds may be a little low, a night at a place I didn’t have to pay rent for sounded great.

“Yes, I still live at the old place honey, you can come anytime.” Even though we barely even knew each other, hadn’t seen each other since I was still a teen, she sounded like I imagined a grandma would sound. I had none, so I wouldn’t exactly know, but that’s definitely what it reminded me of.

“Thanks, see ya later.” I answered fondly and ended the call. I hastily packed my bags and spent the rest of the hour I still had the room for with carefully rewrapping both of my arms.

The left one was coming along fine, still a little raw, skin dry and split open, but the burns were more or less gone. Soft bandages still felt nicer than rough clothing though.

The right one was still looking like shit, or rather, again. The parts that had been healing were starting burst open again, the skin there was tight and swollen, painfully red. The salve I’d bought, fucking expensive shit, didn’t help one bit.

I had seen a lot, but that’s still pretty gross, so I wrapped it tightly, at least Missouri shouldn’t see that. After that was dealt with, I sat myself behind the wheel of my baby and started the two-hour drive.

Theoretically Lawrence was the place I was born at, the place Sam was born, but it didn’t really feel like home, so I tried not to think about it and drove straight to Missouri’s place. There hadn’t been a place in years that felt even close to a real home.  
The house was just as I remembered it and as soon as I raised my fist to knock, the door fell open and the dark-skinned woman was smiling at me widely.

She was a warm-hearted person, so she instantly went for a hug. She was much smaller than the last time she’d done this, or rather, I was much taller now and towering over her, awkwardly folding my arms behind her back.

“Ahh Dean, how have you been? Come ‘on, step inside.” She said and I winced a little as she pulled me through the door, the movement sending a twinge through my forearm.

“I’m good, thanks, and you?” I still tried to sound polite, although I was definitely out of my depth with that endeavor and folded my hands behind my neck because I was kind of uncomfortable.

“Oh, I’m well, but I don’t think you are.” She replied in a relaxed voice that didn’t really fit the implications of her words. “What..?” I didn’t even get a full question out before she gestured at my hands.

“They’re bandaged, show me.” Missouri had that classical ‘no shit tolerance’ aura about her, so I complied with her request on instinct, presenting her my bandaged hands. She quickly uncovered that pulling my shirt up my arms didn’t help her gauge the problem because there were even more bandages.

“That’s not why I came here, I wanted to ask about a case.” I tried to protest, but she simply fished her own phone out of her pocket and dialed one of dad’s many numbers. I didn’t expect him to pick up, he barely ever took my calls, but here he answered in under five rings.

“You need another hunter for your case, Dean’s not fit to take it and stop treating him like he’s your damn pack mule!” Was all she said, John didn’t even get a word in before she hung up on him. I was speechless.

She led me to her couch while I was still stunned from that display and by the time, I got my voice back she had already maneuvered me to sit down and pulled both flannel and undershirt off me with more care than I thought possible.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing serious, I can take the case...” I tried again, but she was back with an instant ‘no more bullshit’ glance in my direction and started peeling of the tightly wrapped bandages.

“I will decide if it’s serious, because I know how much your father is against hospital visits and that he definitely taught you how “the cheapest healthcare products are the best” so I know that you haven’t been taking care of whatever this is correctly.”

Her voice was hard like steel, honestly it was kind of intimidating, even with the knowledge that she was an elderly woman and I was three heads taller than her.  
Meanwhile she was still looking cool while unwrapping the left arm and nodded sagely after examining it to her satisfaction.

“You got burnt, what, one or two weeks ago? What were you hunting?” Missouri continued her line of questions while peeling the other bandage off. Her expression was already turning sour as she felt the wetness seeping through the material.

“A little over two, yeah. Was going after a Wendigo, burnt it and myself.” I shrugged back at her and couldn’t help but flinch when she tugged the last layer of protection away from the inflamed skin of my right arm.

“Oh no, Dean! That is a bad infection, how did you even drive here? This has to hurt like hell, most people probably wouldn’t even be cognizant in a state like that.” She exclaimed loudly, her voice shocked and angry.

“You need to go to a hospital if you notice that your burns get infected. Hell, even the flesh that has healed over is all pus under that skin.” She scolded and got up from the chair she placed close to me so she could have a good look at the injuries.

She came back with a few things and handed me a glass of cold water, that I sipped gratefully. Maybe she was right, it wasn’t unrealistic from the way I was feeling that my fever had risen in the last few hours of traveling here.

“We’ll need to reopen those wounds, clean them correctly and treat you with antibiotics, for Christ’s sake. You at least got a tetanus shot, right?” She asked, obviously still furious beneath her calm façade and I nodded dutifully. Lot’s of dangerous stuff in my line of work, so tetanus shots were actually something that even Dad thought valuable.

“Here, have some Ibuprofen first, this will hurt a lot.” She muttered sadly and handed me a blister of pills. I swallowed three and let her guide me to the floor, where she could lay my arm on the coffee table. “Sorry for the position, but this spot has the best lighting in the house and is easy to clean.” She explained while pulling out more and more medical supplies.

I just nodded and tried for a smile, although I didn’t really feel like smiling with the prospect of getting my recently healed skin sliced back open. I just didn’t know shit about things like that, so there wasn’t really an alternative to putting my trust in Missouri.

The older woman put a thick fluffy towel underneath my arm and brought along a large bottle of disinfectant and a bunch of paper tissues.  
“Tell me if you need a break.” She mouthed sadly and waited for my nod before she started pouring the clear fluid over my burns.

I pulled back on instinct, the pain was intense and I could barely muffle a scream, fuck, this was worse than the original injury.

Meanwhile Missouri was swearing. I couldn’t make out her exact words over the ringing in my ears, but the tone of her voice was a good indicator.

“Dean, you need to lay it down again and hold still.” Was the first thing I could hear correctly after a whole while. I guess she probably said it about ten times before that, but she was a patient woman, so she didn’t scream at me or tried to touch. That probably wouldn’t have ended well, if I was completely honest.

“Can’t. Hold me down.” I answered, my voice sounded broken and hoarse even to my own ears. In front of anyone else I probably would have melted to the floor with humiliation at that, but I wasn’t feeling up to it at the moment.

She nodded, a grim expression painting her otherwise warm features. I laid my arm back onto the towel and for a minute or so she let me rest while she was probably thinking about the best way to do this.

After all I may be hurt and fevered, but strength wise I should still be able to overpower her with ease, so Missouri came to the same conclusion as I did. The dark-skinned woman flattened my right hand to the table and carefully placed her knee in my palm, before slowly putting her weight on it.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but as she was putting her whole bodyweight there, I truly felt immobilized. Exactly what we needed right now, because I knew I would definitely make it worse with pulling away out of reflex again.

“You good?” She checked in shortly and picked up the bottle of disinfectant again as soon as I nodded in confirmation. My free hand wandered to one of the legs of the coffee table and grasped onto it as if my life depended on it in anticipation of the pain.

And there was the liquid fire again. I felt my arm flinch erratically, but Missouri had pinned the limb firm enough to stop me from getting away. I pressed my forehead to the tabletop, panting and groaning softly, just waiting for it to be over.

Meanwhile Missouri was rubbing at the wound with more towels, truly getting it clean for the first time since the burn happened, pulling away flaking old skin and the new thin layer that had just regrown with the movements.

The stench was bad even though the pungent smell of disinfectant should clog the air around us, rotten flesh was mixed into it and made me gag. Missouri stopped her ministrations instantly and tried to catch my eye in concern.

“Do you need to throw up?” She asked when I finally lifted my gaze from the wooden table a little. “Nah, just the smell and the pain, you know.” I denied, my voice even huskier now than mere minutes ago. My best guess was that I was as pale as a sheet on top of all that, so I probably looked like shit.

Again, she simply nodded and continued peeling away skin and dirt, pink, watery blood and greenish pus mixed in-between. Yeah, that looked like a really bad infection now that I came to think about it, probably should have gone to the hospital at some point in the last week.

When no more fluid came away and the wound looked clean, Missouri flushed the inflamed skin with some lukewarm water. It actually felt quite nice after the intense pain of the last.. Well, I couldn’t really tell, could have been whole hours or mere minutes I spent kneeling on the floor.

I let go of the table’s leg and relaxed slowly, slumping my whole upper body onto the tabletop instead.

“We’re practically done. I’ll get you some antibiotic cream on that burn now and then we’ll leave it open to dry for a while and rewrap it after. You should take some antibiotic pills as well. I would give you a shot if I could, but I don’t have that stuff, I’m no doctor.” She explained, by now looking just as exhausted as myself.

“Thanks Missouri, you’re a lifesaver. Literally.” I chuckled softly and closed my eyes for a while. “You should go sleep it off in my guestroom after.” She suggested in a fond tone as she saw me, practically sleeping on the floor already.

The cream stinged a little, but it was also cooling, that was nice. She brought me something to eat and drink while the wound was drying and I dug in gratefully. It was the best sleep I had in a long time in Missouri’s guest bed.

I stayed three days more so she could keep an eye on the wound. The infection was constantly receding and I felt relaxed in her presence. In her house I didn’t have to constantly watch over my shoulder. Dad didn’t text me with a new case either…

She sat me down to talk on the fourth day, before I could leave. She instructed me on wound care and gave me a few creams and pills I should use to reduce scaring and keep the infection away. Apparently, it was very important to finish the course of antibiotics even when you’re already feeling fine again.

“You should get help from Sam every once in a while.” She said at last, while I was already halfway to my car.

I stared at her in confusion. Sam? How did she get the idea that I needed help? And from Sam out of all people. I couldn’t help but scoff at her words.

“I know that you can get along on your own Dean, you are a great hunter, but I didn’t necessarily mean hunting, my boy.” She said wisely, interpreting my scoff exactly the way it was meant. Freaking psychics.

“He’s studying law, not medicine.” I answered provocatively, but the older woman didn’t rise to it. Of course, she didn’t and made me feel like a petulant child again.

“I know that you know that this isn’t what I meant either.” She grinned back at me, as calm as ever. I simply shrugged and opened the impala’s door with her typical creak.  
“You haven’t been feeling well, and it wasn’t just because of that burn. You should take better care of yourself and don’t just follow your fathers orders all the time. That man is running himself to the ground needlessly, don’t follow him into your own misery blindly. Meeting up with your brother would be a step in the right direction.”

It felt like a lecture, but her voice wasn’t scolding, rather there was a coloring of pity. I didn’t like it.

I told her again, that I was fine on my own and she nodded, said her goodbyes and reassured me that her door would always be open.

Dad didn’t text or call again for weeks and my worry began to rise. Did something happen to him? I couldn’t get a hold of him and finally Missouri’s words came back to me. ‘You should get help from Sam.’

I didn’t want to, but after a few more days of contemplating I drove all the states over until I stood in front of my brother’s door once again.


	6. 5. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backhand / Dissociation --- Dean, Rufus, POV Bobby
> 
> mentions of past child abuse (both for Bobby and Dean) John is kind of not a good parent in this fic.  
> Dean' first introduction to Rufus does not go as smooth as expected.

I had known Sam and Dean since they were small children. I couldn’t exactly remember, but if I had to guess I would say Sam was probably around two or something, still a baby, according to that Dean had to be about six years old, if my guess wasn’t totally off.

John was still relatively new to the hunting community and had recently lost his wife. He was a mean drunk, a real dick most of the time. Befitting of that personality he had few friends.  
Honestly, if it weren’t for the kids attached to him, I probably wouldn’t have hung with him either.

But Sam was a damn cute baby, very calm too and Dean was a sweet, caring boy. He had obvious struggles with speaking, much later I learned that was because he had gone mute after the traumatic death of his mother for three whole months. So, of course I was kind of attached to them.

Well, he was a good hunter, that much I had to admit, still, not many hunters liked to work with him. I was okay with it, not much to lose after all, so I tried to help. A large part of my patience with John Winchester was probably fear. Fear that if I looked away for even a second, he would turn his anger against his own children.

After living the biggest part of my own childhood with a monster in human skin, my father, oh so similar to this man, drunken and angry and so much bigger than me and my mother, I just couldn’t watch these kids going through the same thing.

So, I helped the only way I knew. Hunting. And oh was I good at it, good enough to keep John Winchester close. It worked for a long time, at least I thought it did.

Apparently, I couldn’t keep him close enough though. Sam and Dean got older and John didn’t always think it necessary anymore to have someone like me or Pastor Jim watch over them while he was away. The older they got, the less I saw of them.

As the eyes and ears of the hunting community I learned that he brought his own children to the hunts, without being with him constantly anyways.

It was cruel to rob his children of their childhood like that, but as long as it was just that, it was fine, I thought. And boy was I wrong, because there was so much more that John Winchester ruined for his boys.

Even though I thought I did the right thing, that I protected Sam and Dean, I failed. I got to know John and I trusted him not to hurt them. My trust was cruelly misplaced, and by the time I finally told him he was stepping out of line with his harsh way of teaching and manhandling his children, John wouldn’t listen to me anymore.  
He didn’t need me anymore, so he simply told me to shut up. He didn’t need anyone, so in the end there was no one who could have stopped him.

If I wanted to see Sam and Dean, I had to keep John close as well, so there was nothing left for me but to keep my thoughts about the way he raised his children like soldiers to myself. It hurt and all the while I felt like an absolute failure. All I could do was watch and wake up screaming after another nightmare about my own father.

I hadn’t dreamt about my childhood for a long time, it was in the past. All my recent nightmares had been about the loss of the love of my life, Karen, or fellow hunters, killed on the job, but not this.  
John did a great job of reawakening old fears with his actions and it only strengthened my resolve to stay near in case I could actually help them one day.

I felt relieved that at least Sam felt the urge to rebel against his father, about his neglectful and sometimes downright violent parenting, against a hunting life that would never bring him peace, but only lies and pain.

And at the same time, I felt regret, because most of the times Dean was the one that had to live with the consequences these fights brought.

I was proud of Sam when he went to law school like he was my own son, believe me that. It meant he would get to have a future, a life without the constant fear of the law or worse, death. He would get to be on the good side for once. He could have a wife, children, a steady income, the apple pie life all Americans dreamed of once.

I also saw how John literally abandoned his children in the wake of that last fight. Dean was twenty-two after all, old enough to hunt on his own by now, and Sam he cut out of his life like he wasn’t even worth a second thought.

Not that Sam was much better. He inherited many traits of his father and even though Dean had told him that he would always have his back, no matter if he aspired to be a hunter, or a lawyer or hell, a damn librarian, Sam blocked most of his calls until Dean eventually stopped trying to reach either member of his family.

To formulate it mildly, Dean was pretty down and fucking lonely after that. He didn’t call me or show up until it was absolutely necessary, so I tried to invite him along as often as I could. 

At least he didn’t feel like he was imposing that way, he would probably never actually understand that I liked having him around.  
Made that large fucking house not feel empty and haunted for once.

After a lot of cases together with his father, we were already a pretty well-established team. Dean was adaptable as hell, so I thought introducing him to a few of my friends wouldn’t be a bad thing, he worked well with most people, very unlike his parent in that way.

It would be good for him to know some people that weren’t attached to his old man for once and were still a part of the hunting community if he ever needed help.

So I introduced the young hunter to one of my oldest and most experienced hunting friends, Rufus Turner, and took them both on a case.

I wasn’t sure at the beginning what we were dealing with but it quickly turned out to be a rogue demon. Demons were pretty though, no way known to kill one just yet, but there was an effective method to get rid of them nonetheless: Exorcisms.

On first glance Rufus and Dean seemed to get along just fine. The young hunter always got a little quiet around new people since Sam wasn’t by his side anymore, since he didn’t have anyone to protect or to impress there was no need to put up a show and all that.

So Dean did his best in research even though sitting down for work like that was never his strong suit. Rufus commented on his serious work while we were alone, strengthening my believe that I was doing good work with bringing these two together.

We were sure of ourselves when we headed out to hunt that son of a bitch down. We knew what he looked like, we knew where he currently lived, we were ready with hidden weapons and traps.

Honestly, that should have been the first indicator that something was going to go wrong, because you are never truly ready for an exorcism.

In the end the demon was just as ready as we thought we were. As soon as we entered his lair, he dropped several walls with his raw strength, effectively separating us and ruining most of the perfectly placed devil’s traps.

I hurried through the chaos as fast as I could, a bottle of holy water clutched to my chest, to get back to the other two. I was pretty sure Rufus and Dean were still together, so that was a good sign, right?

After a while screaming helped me to determine my way, not that it did any good for my heart, I was scared out of my mind.  
When I finally reached the other hunters, Rufus was pinned at the hands of the demon, groaning in pain with the little air he was able to get through the chokehold the black-eyed creature had him in and Dean was stammering the beginnings of an exorcism.

I hadn’t heard Dean stammer since he was an eight-year-old boy. But now was not the best time to think about things like that.

For now I picked up on the stammering verse Dean had just left off with a confidence that got even the demon to back up from my fellow hunter. Sadly he also blocked most of his own exits with his actions to hinder us, not a very intelligent demon. Nowhere to run, so after another verse from my mouth, that I didn’t even need to pay attention to after years and years, the black cloud of a demon on his way back to hell left the body of the young man in front of us. He dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks.

I quickly stepped up to check for a pulse, but unsurprisingly the body really wasn’t more than a dead piece of flesh for god even knows how long. Exorcisms never worked like in the damn movies.

After that I checked on Rufus, but my friend was already getting back to his feet, cursing like it was the thing he was born to do, so he couldn’t be doing that bad I decided.

Instead of calming though, he stepped up to Dean with more anger in his voice than I had ever heard. “What in heavens name did you think you were doing there, huh? Were you fucking trying to kill us boy?! Hunting is dangerous enough without delinquents like you who are too lazy to even learn a simple exorcism. Get out of my sight and stop wasting Bobby’s time already.”

They were harsh words, especially because I knew deep down Rufus was a big old softy, but he just had a scare for his own life, being angry at someone or something was a natural reaction, so I let him get it out of his system, having been a victim of rages like that myself more than I could count.

But Dean wasn’t really reacting at all, the blond was simply staring at his own boots like he had just lost his hearing or something and that made Rufus lose his shit even more.  
“Are you even listening to me? Do you think this is funny?!” He actually screamed this time and accompanied his words with a backhand that got even Dean to stumble slightly, and hell that kid may not be as tall as his brother, but he certainly had some brawn on his build.

Still, the young Winchester didn’t react and was now staring at a place slightly to the left while Rufus raised his hand to strike again.

Dean might still be in a state of shock, but that move got me to break out of my own and I stepped forwards to catch the fist of my friend before it could strike flesh again. Dean’s freckled cheek was already bright red and I felt my own anger rear it’s ugly head.

“Stop hitting him.” I growled deeply and surprisingly it seemed to do wonders in calming my friend. Rufus let his hand fall out of my grip and palmed the back of his head, his forehead scrunching up in a way that indicated he could clearly remember the times I had told him about John Winchester and his sons.

His anger didn’t fully vanish and he was right about that. Dean should have told us that he wasn’t exactly fluent with the exorcism, but he muttered something that sounded distinctively like “Shit” while backing up. “I’ll wait outside.” He said shortly before leaving us alone.

Meanwhile Dean hadn’t moved or changed the direction he had been looking at. It looked weird, like he wasn’t even here right now, but physically he was perfectly fine from what I could see.

I carefully reached out for his shoulder, but he didn’t react to touch either. “Dean?” I asked him softly this time, scared that I would startle him any second now, but the younger hunter was calm while answering. “Yeah?” Was all he said and I gulped. So he did hear and understand Rufus just fine, I didn’t know if that was better than the alternative.

“How are you?” I asked next and still held on to his shoulder as he didn’t seem to mind the action. “Fine.”

“Where are you at right now?”  
“Demon hunt close to your home base.” He said mechanically and I was sure John trained him for answers like this in case something serious ever happened or head injuries and stuff like that. It wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for though. “And in your head?” I indicated where my thoughts were headed and hoped he would catch on.

Dean’s fingers twitched at his side, the first deliberate movement since he stumbled under Rufus’ forceful hit, like he was finally reconnecting to his body.  
“Here, but also, a little in the past if you know what I mean?” His voice was calm while explaining this, his hand finally coming up to cup his swelling cheek.

“Yeah, I think there’s a word for what you’re feeling in modern psychology now. Sometimes I do the same thing, I think, where you like physically know where you are, but you aren’t quite in your own body either, eh?” Dean just nodded slightly, so I continued in a soft and calm tone, well as soft as my gruff voice could manage anyways.

“Your heard what Rufus said?” Again, a nod from the blond. “Was it because of what he said? John used to say thing like that a lot, right?” At that Dean finally reacted, although I would have wished for him to stay close, he backed up a few steps and turned his back to me.

Still, he quietly agreed to my statement. “Guess so.” “It’s called dissociation, I think. Your dad… He hurt you real bad when…” I couldn’t say more than that, because Dean turned back around to glare at me with fire in his eyes. Whatever episode Dean just had was definitely over now.

“He did the best he could, so stop talking about him like that.” Was all the blond said before leaving the ruined house behind him. I couldn’t help the deep sigh, that left my lungs. Dean was a loyal soul, I couldn’t even imagine what John would have to do to this boy to get him to hate him. Even after he left his sons behind, Dean still had his back…

Rufus and Dean worked well together on the next hunt we tried. Neither of them spoke of the things that happened on that particular demon hunt ever again. They weren’t the types for holding grudges.

Dean tended to spend some more nights at my house from then on to perfect the few exorcisms he was familiar with under my tutelage. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t have another dissociative episode like that again until years later. Until after hell, so maybe neither John nor I had ruined this young man’s future. It was relief and hope for myself at the same time.


	7. 6. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stalker / Knife to the throat --- Dean, POV Sam
> 
> Additional trigger warnings!! Past Rape/Non-con. It's not explicit, but it's referenced as something Sam remembers happening when they were still teens (underage!) Also, there's a side character who's a real creep

I was six years old when I learned about monsters. When my brother was six years old, he first fired a gun. Dean knew about monsters since mom died, pinned to the ceiling like one of those creepy dead butterflies, cut open, bleeding and burning, he barely four years old at the time.

The moment I learned about our hunter thing was an accident, I was attacked by a shtriga, if dad would have had his way, I probably would have found out about monster way after my twelfth birthday or something, while handing his other son a loaded gun without a second thought.

I didn’t quite get it, it triggered a weird kind of dissonance in my head whenever I thought about how differently dad had treated his older son and how much he wanted to shelter me from the evil out there.

John handed me a gun for the first time when I was eleven. Dean already went to hunts with him when he was that old.

Well, after I had learned about the monsters out there, he had to include me into the hunter life somehow, and it turned out I didn’t really like it in the end. We had a lot of fights about it and for a while it even got me to leave my family behind.

But no matter how much I wanted to leave it behind, it would always catch up to me. The supernatural I mean, my girlfriend dying like my mother did was scary. How a four-year-old was supposed to handle this was beyond me.

I started to think about all the times Dean lost his voice when we were kids and about all the horrible things he had seen when he was young and it made sense that he would go mute for a while when everything got too much for him. Well, it made sense now that I had seen what he saw as a kid, traumatizing even an adult that was familiar with the creatures lurking in the dark.

Dean started flirting with girls when he was eleven, an early bloomer in every possible way. Puberty hit him hard and fast while it didn’t work all that well for me, only getting me to constantly grow taller until I was bigger than both my brother and my father.

Men started flirting with Dean when he was fifteen years old. People didn’t call him handsome, they called him pretty and even though it’s hard to admit it for me, for his little brother, they were right.

Dean had very defined features, a strong jaw and plush lips. His skin is pale, freckled whenever the sun was out and he’s got that all American dirty blond hair, making the hazel and green of his eyes stand out. He had a slender neck and long, strong arms, a slim waist. Apparently, it was a look that could attract both men and women.

At first neither of us really understood. Dean was interested, but it had never crossed his mind that other men were even a possibility, growing up in the eighties and with a very strict father and all that, and I? I was still in my girls are gross phase when I was eleven.

But dad understood. He was the one that was always dragging us through shady motels you could rent by the hour, bringing us to bars and eating at truck stops in the middle of nowhere.

Places where moaning and crumpled bills in the pockets of scantily clothed prostitutes were never far.

He knew exactly what it meant when a thirty year old man would offer to buy his fifteen year old son a drink and he always got them to back off without making a scene, because a scene was not something John Winchester needed, because all he needed was to stay inconspicuous no matter what. No matter if his sons were the ones that would suffer for it.

I guess that was what I hated the most about him. He was such an egoist. John could never put our needs before his own, so Dean met men like this one again and again, wherever we went, because Dean was fucking pretty and that didn’t even change when he got older.

Yes, he grew up, he got more muscles now, he got scars and wide shoulders and all that, but in the end, he was still pretty when he was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen and so on. He was still pretty when he was twenty-two and I left for Stanford and when I met him again four years later.

I couldn’t imagine what it had to feel like to be confronted with creeps like that all the time. It happened once or twice in a seedy motel back when we were kids, but after that I barely got approached by men even though women certainly thought I was attractive, not to mention ones that were ten years plus my senior.

So yes, maybe I developed kind of a protective streak in that regard towards my older brother. I always kept an eye out for him whenever we went to a bar or a motel in the bad part of town or those creepy truck stops in the middle of the desert, where more than one prostitute tended to hang around. Didn’t stop truckers from offering Dean money anyways.

Dean always protected me, no matter from what, so that was one thing I felt I could do in return of all the times he saved me. Sadly, neither me nor dad could be present all the time… Dean is strong, but there are always things you can’t save yourself from. 

It’s probably something that would always haunt us worse than the ghosts, vampires, demons or whatever… Humans after all, are the worst kind of monsters, that is something that I learned when I was thirteen.

I picked up on my habit of watching Dean’s back seamlessly again as soon as we were back on the road together. It didn’t surprise me that there were still creeps leering after my brother while he was nearing his thirties now, he is still a very pretty man after all.

It did surprise me though that Dean didn’t notice the man in question this time around.

He wasn’t that much older than my brother for once, probably mid-thirties, a plain guy, short dark hair, receding hairline, a fit build, simple clothing. I probably wouldn’t have noticed him either, if it weren’t for the fact that he was constantly present somehow since we entered this city for a case.

He was at the bar whenever we were there, he showed up at the grocery store at the same time we did, I saw him at the library as well and every goddamned time I went out of the house I met him outside, going for a walk or whatever he claimed he was doing there.

I let it slide, because he barely ever talked to my brother, just watching from afar or sharing pleasantries.

And then I noticed him taking pictures and realized what was going on. Dean had a stalker.

I nearly lost my shit when I saw it happen again, what a fucking creep. I didn’t even want to know what he was doing with those pictures, but I knew it had to stop, for the sake of my brother of course, but also for our safety as hunters.

Personally, I would simply love to bash his ugly head in, but for once I had to admit that dad was right. We couldn’t deal with a scene of that scale. So I started to play the stalker’s game and followed the man.

It was easy to pick up on his trail, he was practically orbiting around Dean like he was his fucking sun or something, so after he was done staring at my brother I went after him. He didn’t notice me and entered his home as clueless as ever.

Tom Denver read the sign above his doorbell. For a second I felt the urge to break down the door and teach him a lesson about privacy, but that would probably end up with a similar problem to my first instinct of beating him to a pulp. The law was definitely on Denver’s side in that case, not to mention that I had difficulties with keeping my temperament in check when it came to trash of his kind.

I backed off and waited for my turn, I knew it would come eventually or we’d leave the town and never see that scumbag again, that would have been fine too.

Unfortunately, it was never that easy for Dean. I noticed that Tom got more talkative with my brother, eventually inviting him to the bar or even his home. Even though Dean had been oblivious to Tom for a long time he still always declined wisely and was beginning to look seriously uncomfortable whenever the guy showed up.

On top of that Tom seemed to have developed a problem with personal space boundaries, always a step to close, bodies nearly touching. I grit my teeth and let it slide a little longer until I got my chance to corner him all alone.

It was on an evening at the bar after a long day at the library. The case that had initially brought us here was already solved, we had just been searching for a new one. The house we rented here was comfy enough that both of us felt the wish to stay a little longer. If it just weren’t for fucking Tom at least.

As always, the man wasn’t far from my brother, sitting down next to him without asking.

He stepped out into the back alley for a smoke and I excused myself from the table right after him.

When I found him, Tom had a cigarette in his hand, but he didn’t seem very interested in it, instead he was intently staring at his phone, a picture that looked suspiciously like one of the small windows of our current home base. Probably another picture of Dean my brother knew nothing about, disgusting.

“So, Tom. How long will it take you to finally understand that Dean isn’t interested in you?” I asked in a mocking tone and the man in question pocketed his phone hurriedly, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What.. what are you talking about?” He stammered all innocent. It was hard, but I really tried to stay calm.  
“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I know your kind, at first you’re happy with just looking from afar, but then you want to talk to them and touch and get close. You’re always nice, in the beginning, and then you can’t stand it anymore that they don’t want to be with you in return, you feel like they owe you.”

“What?! Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tom protested, innocence forgotten and replaced with anger.  
“I’m talking about Dean. How long will it take from now until you lose your shit with him? Until you try to touch him or hurt him because he wants you to leave him alone?” I continued to provoke the older man.

“Dean doesn’t want me to back off, he likes me!” Ahh, and Denver finally showed his true self, practically screaming in my face now.  
“He doesn’t like you one little bit, he thinks you’re a creep, and he doesn’t even know about all the pictures you’ve been taking.” I growled back at him, unimpressed by all his bravado.

“I.. No! You’re lying!” For my own defense, he tried to attack me, it only felt natural to pull my knife. Well, I could easily catch his punch with my free hand and wrestled the smaller man into a chokehold, tip of my knife pressed to his throat.

I fished his phone out of his pocket and opened his gallery, finding hundreds of pictures of my brother. That only made Tom more creepy, because there were all the photos I expected from the bar and the store, the library and in town, but there were so many pictures of Dean in our home as well.

Well, that house wasn’t even really our home, but it still felt safe, and to know that it wasn’t because of people like Tom here felt absolutely disgusting.

“So, what are all these if you don’t know what I’m talking about?” I hissed close to his ear. “You know what Tom, I don’t want to know, but we’ll make a deal tonight. You need to learn that people will tell you they’re not interested and they want you to back off, got it? Stop stalking Dean and don’t you dare start with someone else again, or I’ll come and hunt you down, that’s a promise.”

I was barely whispering by now, pressing the knife closer and closer to his skin with all the control I could manage, leaving only the smallest cut, barely drawing blood but scaring the creep enough to get him to practically piss his pants.

I pulled the knife back a little and the man began to nod frenetically. “So, what do you do when people tell you no?” “You back off.” He stammered back at me and I let him go, patting his back roughly. “Good boy.” I grinned and pocketed my knife again, dropping his phone to the floor and kicking it beyond recognizability.

After a deep breath I stepped back into the bar, paid our bill and told Dean we’d leave town tomorrow.

Usually Dean would protest any decision I made without consulting him first in his typical firstborn son fashion, but this time he let it slide and packed his bags with a smile on his face.

He clapped my back before sitting down in the driver’s seat the next morning, with a happy “Thanks Sammy.” And we never looked back at that ugly small town. We never saw or heard of Tom Denver again either and that was the best we could’ve hoped for.


	8. 7. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traumatic touch aversion / Rape --- Dean, Sam, POV Donna
> 
> A hunt gone wrong and some overly handsy vampires reawaken memories Dean would rather forget, or at least not get poor Donna to witness them.  
> There is attempted Rape/Non-con in this chapter, as well as referenced past sexual assault, but nothing sexually explicit

Ever since first getting acquainted with the Winchester brothers, Dean and I had formed an odd sort of friendship over our very own “rustic” brand of humor. Sam probably thought we were utter idiots most of the time we were talking, internally laughing about the stupid blondies he surrounded himself with, but not in the mean way people laughed about a fat, female sheriff, but in a fond, familial way.

Both of us could laugh until we were quite literally crying about stupidly over the top action movies or shotgun loving rednecks. Not that the both of us loved our shotguns any less than them, but still, it was the sentiment that counted, especially when it looked like they were actively trying to fulfill all the clichés surrounding them.

We liked donuts, the powdered more so than the glazed ones and greasy burgers with bacon.  
My interest in cars wasn’t that big, but Dean made machine-talk sound like it was some kind of art and yeah, his impala certainly was a piece of art rather than a lifeless machine. No wonder, he talked to the thing like it was his baby, which he actually called it, so that was that.

To sum things up, we had a lot of things in common. His personality was refreshing, because even though he was mostly macho to the very core of his being, he was still not the kind of macho I had to work with on a daily basis.

He didn’t make a big deal out of the fact that we didn’t share the same gender for example, something most people around here were apparently incapable of.

There was another thing we had in common. I only learned about it with time, because first and foremost I was still a cop and a hunter second. Really, the only hunts I did at first were those that actively hindered my job.

But working together with the brothers was fun, and the knowledge of the things that go bump in the night tended to change the opinion that you were safe, as long as you were able to ignore those things and leave the job of taking those monsters out to someone else.

Without even thinking about it I started to investigate more and more, often finding the supernatural as source of the evil going on around us. As a result, I soon called the Winchesters on a regular basis, which in turn would show up together and help with exterminating whatever was haunting us this time around.

There was a certain creature Dean actively enjoyed killing. Well, he liked hunting in general, except for witches apparently, something I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting as of yet, but vampires were definitely his favorite kill.

I was a little weirded out at first, because really? Vampires? Didn’t they die out in the sun anyways? Or did it work with garlic instead? Did they glitter? Sam enlightened me to the fact that all those pop culture references were utter bullshit, the only way to kill them was beheading. And wow, that sounded brutal, probably really gross and bloody, but Dean looked giddy like a kid on Christmas morning while handing out machetes to everyone.

The hunt went smoother than expected, the nest of six vamps exterminated before I even knew it. Dean was covered in blood from head to toe, but looked more satisfied with himself and the world, than I’d ever seen him before as a result.

On the second vampire hunt I had my own first kill and I got to understand his feeling of euphoria at least a little better. The rush of adrenalin was amazing, and a head rolling over the ground meant that the thing was definitely fucking dead, so yeah, it was rather satisfying.

I anticipated the next vamp. I was getting good at killing those things, so yeah, definitely another thing the older Winchester and I had in common. Dean would actually call me over when they found another nest around, high fiving me for a greeting. I brought my own machete this time.

Until there suddenly was a vampire hunt that didn’t go as planned. Sam stayed back because he was already researching their next case, some ghost or something a town over, leaving the “fun” for the people that would actually appreciate it.

Unfortunately, the nest of vampires was bigger than anticipated. According to the Winchester monster diary or whatever you wanted to call the old journal of their father John Winchester, a nest was considered to be the size of five to ten heads.

In the city was nothing at all to indicate that this one was larger than usual, so we were completely overpowered when we found sixteen of the fuckers hiding out in an abandoned factory, with a leader that was probably several hundreds of years old and only laughed at our attack, that killed three of his off-springs.

The tall male easily held Dean down by his throat while two of the younger vamps pinned my own arms to the ground, our blades discarded somewhere after the fight was over within mere minutes.

“It’s nice of you to show up here, you know, we have been fasting for a while now, it’s become difficult to feed so many young ones in these times without getting found out. Luckily hunters are outcasts that live just as under the radar as the things they want to hunt down, so they’ve become the perfect prey. Nobody will come look for you, poor little humans.” The alpha preened over Dean and I felt more than saw the group surrounding us in a threatening stalk. They reminded me of vultures.

“Don’t worry, we won’t kill you just yet, whole bodies preserve better.” A young-looking woman explained calmly while crouching next to his head, caressing the visible veins on his neck that formed while he was straining against the grip holding him down.

She was probably much older than the both of us together and her words were creepy rather than calming. Their eyes in the dark and the whole atmosphere was intimidating, I felt goosebumps rising on my skin that had nothing to do with the cold of the abandoned place.

Suddenly there was a burning pain on my biceps and I looked to the side in shock, grasping when I saw another of the beasts biting into my flesh with her long fangs. I tried to pull the limb away, back to my side or somewhere else, just the hell away from those teeth, but another set of hands helped keep me still.

I was glad to have learned that it required actively drinking blood of a fully formed vampire to be turned and not just a bite like this, but having my blood sucked was still not a pleasant experience at all.

As she retracted her fangs, she stopped the small droplets of blood escaping the puncture wounds with a bandage, cleanly and gentle. They were really planning on keeping us alive for as long as possible it seemed and that was even scarier than a quick death could ever be.

I prayed that Sam would notice our absence sooner rather than later and would figure out that we were in trouble without stepping into this nest unprepared like we had. He was the intellectual brother, right? At least according to Dean himself, he should be able to do it…

And still, I couldn’t keep from glancing back at my fellow hunter, pinned in much the same position, fear stark in my eyes.

Dean glanced back at me, out of the corners of his eyes before staring back up at the alpha above him defiantly. In a way it was reassuring, but at the same time the other blonde couldn’t fully hide his own fear either.

Without a warning a hand grasped my ponytail and pulled, the other vampires letting go of my limbs, so I could stumble after the one leading me away until I hit one of the pillars supporting the roof atop of the spacious hall. I screamed in pain and fell to my knees only to suddenly find my wrists bound by my own handcuffs.

The small chain connecting the cuffs was clipped to a thick cable by the vamp, that had led me over here, binding me to the pillar like a piece of cattle and I found a new set of teeth buried next to the fresh bandage.

This time I firmly grit my teeth, because Dean was squirming in his position, cursing at our captors, picking a fight he couldn’t possibly win for my sake. I knew him well enough by now to expect him feeling guilty, so I tried to keep quiet. It also helped with keeping my own panic in check.

Just like the first bite, the second one was bandaged neatly. Afterwards two vampires settled by my side, guarding me, keeping me from moving around too much, who knows. The rest of them stepped over to Dean after I was settled according to their standards.

I bit my lip, because Dean surrounded by eleven vampires didn’t look good for either of us.

The Alpha finally let his hand up from Dean’s neck and my fellow hunter frenetically tried to get to his feet, but another male vampire pushed him down quickly, turning him over so he was lying on his stomach, his arms pulled behind his back in a way that looked pretty uncomfortable even from afar.

The blond Winchester screamed in anger, not pain, never pain from what I knew about him. Then the same fate as I had been through caught up to him, as a vamp clamped his fangs around his wrist, a second one going for his shoulder at the same time.

It looked like two bites were all for the day, so they could “keep us alive” for as long as possible and I expected them to drag him over to another pillar just like they had done with me, but instead most of the vampires stepped back and disappeared into the vast shadows of the abandoned factory while a few remained sitting around the downed form of their victim.

The alpha sniggered knowingly, patting the back of two of his supposedly children fondly. “Do with him what you want, but don’t make him bleed, yeah?” He said wisely before leaving the group of six behind.

One of the vamps sitting next to me was a woman that cackled cruelly, the image coming to my mind was that of a cat, that just caught a mouse and left it to die after playing enough with the corpse.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of Dean’s prone form on the floor. The vampires seemed to be utterly amused by this whole situation and that was the exact reason for the bad feeling that settled in my bones. Whatever these monsters did with their victims for “fun” couldn’t be good for us, that much was clear.

“He’s a cute one, isn’t he! How old is he? Can’t be much older than thirty I guess, humans are creatures with such a measly little lifespan after all.” The vamp next to me mocked again, her immaculate red painted lips pulled up into a borderline feral smirk.  
“I’ll enjoy the show, it’s not often that we catch such an attractive one. He your boyfriend?” I shook my head out of instinct. “Brother then? Husband? Well, it doesn’t matter anyways, still, you should watch, may be the last nice thing you’ll ever see.”

I swallowed hard, because the implications in her amused wording couldn’t be good. Technically I knew what she was talking about but I didn’t quite want to understand. We were food for them, right? They wouldn’t do that to their food. That was just meaninglessly cruel… On the other hand, they were monsters, most of them probably didn’t have a very strong moral compass, not to mention, that they probably didn’t get that many opportunities to release some tension like that.

Oh my god, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, the fear I felt was oppressive. If that was what they wanted to do… why wouldn’t they choose me? I knew, I wasn’t exactly a beauty, but I was a woman and on top of that the easier prey. Predators always went for the easiest kill, right?

The vamp on my other side seemed to pick up on my thoughts without even trying to, it seemed. Well, maybe this situation was so common for them by now, that he just had to know what their victims were thinking.  
“They like it when they put up a fight. And that one over there is the kind, that will fight as long as he’s alive enough to do it.” He commented, opposed to his female companion, apparently bored of the scene already.

A scream ripped me from my thoughts and I found myself once again staring at the group of six crowding on the floor only a few feet away. Dean had been flipped onto his front roughly, the powerful move wringing the startled noise from his lungs. Before he could even try to get up a large palm pressed his face down into the cemented ground, a knee placed on his neck to keep him down. The hunter was snarling like a wildcat that had been provoked with a stick, but all his anger couldn’t protect him in the end. At least not today…

Dean was fruitlessly trying to wrestle the strong leg off of himself with his hands, his own legs trying to find purchase on the slick concrete. Soon enough both of his hands were caught, not that he could have freed himself anyways, the vamps looked like they were swatting away flies while my friend put all his strength into the moves.

One hand was pinned by a boot, the dark-skinned man it belonged to had a relaxed posture while smoking a cigarette with his unoccupied hands. The other was caught midair at the wrist and the vamp sat down next to his torso after doing so, partly blocking my view of what was happening. Dean screamed again, pure rage that would have undoubtedly intimidated every other being, but this group was severely unimpressed by all his efforts.

True to their words, they were enjoying the struggle Dean put up, leering smiles on all of their faces. Then the same man gripped the bottom of the hunter’s jacket and shirt in one hand and pulled it up, another set of hands roaming the exposed skin as soon as it was visible.

By now Dean was squirming and kicking at thin air, the only range of movement he still had in that pinned position, desperation painting his voice as he cursed at them. “No! Don’t touch me, get your fucking hands of me! Fucking bastards! NO, let go!” His rage was interspersed by low growls and panicked panting.

I felt tears gather in my eyes, because oh my god, this was really happening. They weren’t making macabre jokes or just trying to intimidate us with their threats. They were going to hurt Dean… They were planning to rape Dean! Hell, I had never seen Dean scared before now, but in this situation, he had every right to be panicking.

I chocked on a sob, because really, why was I crying? They weren’t hurting me?! This time it was the man next to me that chuckled softly. “Are you glad that it’s not you?” I couldn’t answer, because honestly, I didn’t know the answer to that question. I just wished I could do something, anything, but I felt paralyzed.

Dean was still trying to get his legs under himself somehow, but his endeavors were cruelly cut short when the fifth male vamp at his side grasped his ankle and pulled harshly so the blond hunter once again laid flat on his stomach, completely pinned and helpless. This time his scream was more animalistic than anything else.

The vampire holding onto the older Winchester’s wrist let go only to wrap his hands around Dean’s thigh instead, so he could wrestle the hunter onto his side. That position had to be uncomfortable as hell considering the hold on his neck, the face pressed into the ground and the awkward angle of his shoulders, his naked side pressed to the cold asphalt beneath him.

It looked like Dean was slowly running out of strength, his struggles getting weaker with every move, his screams getting hoarse and the curses too low to hear. His freed hand did not attack the vampires in reach anymore, his fingers were scratching over the floor, as if that would be enough to get him away if only he believed in it hard enough. He looked resigned. In a weird way that was very unlike Dean, known for never just accepting his fate.

The pair of hands that had been exploring his exposed skin wandered down, stroking the soft flesh and barely visible blond hair beneath his bellybutton before they started fumbling with his belt.

I could see that Dean’s lips were trembling. He didn’t meet my eyes even though his head was pinned to look in my direction. In fact, they were squeezed shut tightly, his whole body trembling madly. His face looked wet. It took me a second to realize that he was crying because I had never seen Dean cry before now.

There was the typical soft rustling of fabric as pants were pulled down, loud as a gunshot in the silence of the abandoned building and just as painful.

Dean growled again, the picture perfect imitation of a wild animal within it’s dying breath, trying to tell everyone to stay the hell away without any strength left to back the threat up. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me.” He practically whimpered like the mantra could keep him safe and dear god, I wished it could, but the vamps looked only mildly amused while their chosen victim was scratching the floor until his hand was bloody.

The man that had his knee firmly planted on Dean’s neck suddenly decided there was still too much clothing in the way of his hands and started tugging on the fabric that was bunched around his shoulders and beneath his armpits until there was loud tearing sound, that had the hunter flinching as best as he could until jacket and shirt were only shreds strewn around him.

Meanwhile the other vamps, that blocked large parts of my view with the way they were crowing around the pinned human, started unbuckling their own belts. I felt like I was hit by a truck, no air left in my lungs, nor words in my blank mind to protest.

Dean’s breath was hitching softly, the movement of his naked ribcage exposing the suppressed sobs of the man. Suddenly the milky flesh was splattered with blood, the headless body of the smoking vampire tumbling atop his gross rapist friends.

A machete clattered to the ground not far from the panicked group, shots raining more chaos on the factory, downing both vamps that had been sitting at my side instantly.

Two vamps freed themselves from the tangle of limbs around Dean and started running in the direction of the attackers, but they fell before they could reach the hunters. The other two tried to run, leaving Dean and their fallen comrades behind thoughtlessly, but they were downed just as fast.

As soon as everything was silent the newcomers checked on all the bodies, severing the head of every vampire that had still been attached.

I couldn’t react. I wanted to sob and cry, because that was the scariest shit I’d seen in my whole fucking life. I wanted to scream in anger and let my rage out at the bodies of these monsters, because even though they were already dead, they deserved so much worse for what they’d done to Dean. I wanted to call out to my friend and run to his side, take care of him, or at least give him some comfort after that. I wanted to thank the hunters that beheaded the vampires at my side and were currently unlocking my cuffs, but I couldn’t even look them in the eye.

All I could do was stare blankly at the mess of gore and limbs in the middle of the hall.

Two of the male vamps had fallen right on top of Dean, their headless bodies covering most of his smaller build. There was blood everywhere. Dean wasn’t moving. The hunter was staring just as blankly as me, at the arm of the man more or less covering his torso, neatly falling into his line of sight, as if it had been deliberately placed there. To be honest, he looked just as dead as them.

Then Sam got to him and pulled the bodies away before crouching down next to his older brother. He swiftly covered Dean’s blood splattered naked skin with his own oversized jacket and for once the blonde didn’t complain about the overprotective move.

Well, at first the older Winchester didn’t react at all, except for his subconscious shivering, it took a while before he grabbed the hem of the jacket and pulled it close. His blank stare wandered upwards slowly, only to finally light up with recognition as he met Sam’s eyes.

I exhaled deeply, feeling as if a hefty weight had just been lifted off my shoulders. The brothers were talking in hushed tones while the other hunters, that had helped him with storming the nest were swarming around the factory, sniffing out all the other vampires that had gone astray after capturing their next long-time meals.

One of them offered me a hand and I was finally able to take it, slowly getting out of my own state of shock. I thanked the unknown hunter softly before rushing over to the brothers.

It looked like Sam was trying to get some answers out of his brother, but Dean didn’t say anything other than repeating that he was fine. Yeah, as if, he was probably the farthest thing from fine imaginable. That he was still sitting down in a puddle of slowly drying blood was proof enough.

On top of that he was still shaking like a leaf and the paleness of his skin wasn’t just because of the stark contrast of the dark blood covering it. His lashes were still wet with unshed tears, his whole posture a picture of discomfort and humiliation.

Finally Sam gave in, because the younger brother suddenly got back up with an exasperate sigh. “Alright, if you say so. We should get going now, Henderson’s troop will handle the cleanup around here. Do you think you can walk?”

Dean audibly gnashed his teeth in a pissed off manner that had both Sam and I flinching while he answered. “I told you: Nothing happened. I’m fine, of course I can walk!” As if wanting to back his point up he got up hastily and quickly stumbled a few steps, so I tried to catch him, but Dean was harsh while he slapped my hands away.

I startled a few steps backwards in turn, but he still hissed at me like I was one of the monsters that got him into this mess in the first place. “Don’t fucking touch me!” It was all he said before storming out of the abandoned factory on his own, Sam’s coat still securely wrapped around him.

The younger Winchester by my side sighed again, this time less annoyance in his voice but more concern. I felt his large palm on my shoulder. It was warm, a comforting gesture that felt absolutely out of place after I had upset his beloved older brother like that.

“I’m sorry Donna. He doesn’t mean it.” He tried to soothe me, but I just shook my head, trying to stay calm and rational after being so useless while Dean had needed me the most. “No, that’s my own fault. I saw what they did to him, how they touched him. I should have known he wouldn’t want to be touched again so soon after that.”

Sam nodded und still patted my shoulder softly. “Yeah, we should probably talk about that in the motel. But first we should catch up with Dean. Probably wouldn’t be good to have him drive alone right now.” He explained. I agreed and we left, finding Dean outside, standing patiently next to the Impala.

The drive was quiet, Sam behind the wheel. No one uttered a word. Technically I had my own room while the brothers shared theirs, but neither of us mentioned the fact that I went with them to their room as we reached the motel. I didn’t feel like being alone after that, especially not with the knowledge that Sam wanted to talk about something.

Dean entered the room first, only to go directly over to his duffle, pull out a set of clean clothing and disappear into the bathroom for an hour. Sam called out after him, asking if he needed any help, if he was hurt, but Dean once again insisted that he was fine.

Sam had a quiet breakdown after that, tears rolling down his pained face, but not a sound coming from his lips. I held his hand and he actually accepted my presence, so that was nice. It felt cathartic. Still, after twenty minutes Sam ventured back to the bathroom and asked again if Dean needed any help.

“I told you, it’s fine, I’m fine.” He answered again, but this time his voice at least wasn’t as angry anymore. He sounded exhausted and continued softly. “I… They… It..it didn’t happen. It’s fine.. They didn’t. I’m not hurt.” The older brother obviously tried to sound reassuring, but his stumbling words and his broken voice didn’t exactly help.

“Okay. But call me anyways if there’s anything I can do.” Sam agreed with an understanding tone. It was silent again, the rattling pipes and the shower the only sound in the room.

When Dean finally emerged from the bathroom he was clad in a large old pullover, the color that had probably been black once upon a time washed out and the material fuzzy. His face was still a little flushed from the humid heat in the shower room.

First he went to his brother and hit his arm playfully, a grin plastered to his face that was only forced at the beginning. “I promise you, it’s fine. I’m not hurt, nothing happened. I can handle this.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah sure. Just because they didn’t hurt you physically doesn’t mean you’re…” “None of that now. I’m tired, okay?” The younger dropped the topic after that, nodding shortly.

Afterwards the other blonde turned to me. I felt my cheeks heat in embarrassment, wanting to apologize for my stupid move back there, but before I could get anything out Dean was carefully touching my wrist. “Sorry Donna. I get like that sometimes, after… Yeah, I just overreacted a little. Forget it.” He said before laying down on his bed.

It was quiet again while he was falling asleep. Sam took care of the scrapes and bruises around my wrists from the handcuffs and the bitemarks even though they were technically already taken care of. Just like the older Winchester Sam looked exhausted.

I told him to sleep. It looked like he wanted to protest, but in the end, he said nothing before lying down.

After two hours of rest Dean awoke with a scream that in turn had Sam waking up grasping in panic. The blonde quickly shut himself up with a hand clamped over his mouth, at least until he started gagging. He looked like he was trying to stumble to the bathroom, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t make it, so I quickly handed him the trashcan instead.

Just in time apparently, as he was throwing up as soon as he held the thing in his hands. Sam got up and hovered close, but was reluctant to touch his brother, familiar with this kind of behavior, as Dean began to mumble after finally being done with bringing everything in his stomach back up. “Don’t touch me.” A sentence that was getting very familiar in his near silent voice.

After a while he began to relax again and Dean stopped his mantra of telling no one in particular to not touch him. “Sorry about that.” Was the next thing he said.

Sam helped his brother back to bed and took the vomit filled trashcan away, the worry clear in his eyes and Dean groaned at that, knowing he wouldn’t get out of the talk this time. I hesitated, unsure if they wanted me to listen in on such a private thing, but Dean quickly snuffed my worries out, tapping the mattress in a demanding way until I sat down next to him.

When Sam returned, he simply sat down next to me and looked at his brother for a while, waiting for Dean to speak up. Instead of saying anything the blonde curled up around himself, burying his face in his knees.

His hand was shaking again when it reached out for mine, so I held it firmly, but with enough leeway to ensure that he could pull away any time.

I swallowed hard before speaking up carefully. I had been thinking about what happened all day, about the way Dean reacted and spoke and of his empty staring, the fear that was so atypical for him. His wording was odd when it came to the no touching thing, about the way he swatted me away. Still, actually voicing my suspicions was harder than I thought.

“This… This has happened before?” I finally spoke and felt the twitch in Dean’s hand, as if he was thinking about pulling away for a second. I opened my hand to let him go, but after that he just held on tighter, his shoulders tensing up.

Sam looked like he wanted to say something along the lines of ‘you don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready’ but Dean was already shaking his head to shut him up in the weird way the brothers could lead practically telepathic conversations between them.

“Yeah, when I was seventeen. He was… well, a normal human. I should’ve been able to do something, but he… hurt me pretty bad first, trucker, drove for a whole while, left me to die in a ditch after, it was… Yeah, I was pretty scared. I think I wasn’t all here today. Saw him. Felt his hands. Was scared out of my fucking mind. Dreamt about him. I could have sworn he was there today. I was just as useless as back then.”

“You weren’t useless. Sure, they outnumbered you and had superhuman strength, but that’s not everything, because you weren’t useless back then either. Just because you were hunting monsters doesn’t mean humans can’t hurt you, because we all know, sometimes humans are the worst kind of monster. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

I didn’t feel like my words would mean much to someone who’d survived such a horrible thing as rape, but Dean lifted his face enough to show his smile. It still wasn’t an expression that stood in any comparison to Dean’s usual smirk, but it was better than the tears and panic I had seen there mere hours ago.

Sam was sobbing softly by my other side and apologizing fiercely. “Shit, I shouldn’t have left you alone, I should’ve been with you, I should’ve noticed this nest was too big, I’m so sorry this happened to you again, I’m such an idiot, just like back then..” His rambling didn’t make it exactly clear if he was solely talking about the incident today either.

At that Dean sat up straight and pulled his brother in a tight hug without letting go of my hand. “Shh Sammy, I know it looks bad right now, but I told you, nothing happened. I’ll be fine. This isn’t your fault and it wasn’t dad’s back then either. I guess, sometimes bad things just happen.”

“But they always happen to you.” The younger man lamented back, burying his face in the crook of his brother’s neck. Obviously enjoying being close to his brother after he had been so vehement about keeping his distance at first. “I wish.” Dean answered, the grin on his face half pained, half sincere.

“Sorry Donna. The next hunt will be fun again.” He promised ruefully and I nodded dumfounded by the situation.

The brothers spent the next week couped up in my home. Sleep was interrupted by nightmares from time to time, but Dean was back into his touchy always smirking and dirty jokes character before either of us thought it possible.

From then on, I made sure that Dean was always the one initiating contact and subtly bullied everyone away from him that was too dumb to follow that simple rule. Sam grinned at me like I hung the moon and Dean? Dean always made sure to go for an extra long hug whenever we met up.


	9. 8. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hidden scars / Self-harm --- Dean, POV Sam
> 
> Dean has a lot of scars and until now Sam thought he knew them all.  
> Mentions of past rape, molestation and child abuse, no graphic cutting, but a lot of scars and so on

It wasn’t new for me that Dean wore his clothes like a sort of armor. He wore layers of shirts and bulky jackets for warmth and comfort, a habit picked up in a childhood that was in large parts spent in a classic car. Don’t get me wrong, Dean loved his baby even more now that she was his own car of course, but the heating wasn’t exactly modern standard anymore, meaning, most of the times it was cold as fuck in that car.

Cheap motels weren’t great either, drafty, humid and moldy. Our clothes had mostly been collected in thrift shops all around the states or were handed out by the salvation army, so layering was really the only way to look decent and not catch a cold.

While I changed all those things about my life with going to college, it was important to me to look good from then on, Dean was still doing it like dad taught us, cheap and under the radar.

On top of that, I knew those clothes also helped my brother to feel secure. Thick oversized jackets had the ability to make people look larger than they actually were. Not that Dean was small by any means, at least not anymore, but he probably still felt like it from time to time. Covering it up with layers made that feeling easier to deal with was my guess.

Clothes like that were like a layer of courage he could put on every morning without much struggle. They kept unwanted eyes away from him more often than not.

I knew all that, it wasn’t news to me, because it wasn’t like I would completely forget what it was like to live with my brother after only a few years in college. But apparently Dean had forgotten what it was like to live with me, because suddenly I wasn’t excluded by those barriers anymore.

Well, it didn’t appear weird at first, that Dean wasn’t lounging around in my presence half naked anymore, because we were both grown men now and no longer simple kids, that grew up together. But after a while it felt... Yeah, after months of living together again, sharing a bathroom and all, it was beginning to feel out of place how insistent my brother was about always being clad decently around me. He had never been shy about his body after all.

I felt like I was missing something obvious, and that made me feel like an idiot and if I hated anything at all, it was feeling like an idiot, so I knew, I needed to find what was going on or I’d lose my patience while dealing with my stupid family. God damn it, why did the Winchesters always make everything more complicated than it actually was, instead of just talking about their issues?! Maybe we wouldn’t need to look for dad now if that was the case!

I started my search for clues with stupid jokes and guesses, asking if Dean got an embarrassing tattoo while I was away or a new funny constellation of freckles somewhere, he wouldn’t want me to see.

Dean smashed those attempts with a sarcastic laugh, flipping me off before disappearing out of the room we shared. So whatever it was that had my brother wearing thick hoodies around me was of a more serious matter than.

I asked if it was something dad did, because I remembered more than one ritual requiring blood of one of the participants and I remembered even more scars littering Dean’s body that originated from dad without such a noble cause as saving other lives behind it.

That got Dean really angry, but in the end held the same effect. No answers and my brother storming out of the motel, not returning until early morning, smelling of cheap alcohol for the whole next day. I wasn’t sure if that was a confirmation of my ideas, but dropped it, unwilling to upset him so soon after reuniting again.

Dean still made an effort to drop more of his clothes around me, as if trying to deny my suspicions. It didn’t exactly help the feeling of hatred that burned in my gut when thinking of John and I asked myself more and more often why I was even helping the search for that old bastard. He was a shitty father and not a nice human being to begin with. If Dean wanted to look for him, fine, but I should go back to my actual life sooner rather than later…

We were packing our bags and I just wanted to tell my brother that I would be going back to Stanford, he should be able to solve the next case by himself, when his shirt suddenly rode up a bit while reaching up into one of the cupboards.

There was a neat row of long straight scars shimmering just above his belt, wandering up the side of his hipbone, disappearing on his side when the shirt slipped back down again.

I paused and tried to think of all the scars I knew of, because I had always been there when Dean had been injured. Well, at least before leaving the family business behind for college. I was familiar with a wide range of monsters and the kind of wounds they caused.

Straight lines were usually caused by claws, but they tended to end up jagged and thick, the ones I saw just now were neat, so fine they looked silvery, practically invisible on my brother’s pale skin. Not for me though, because I knew of all the scars that covered Dean.

These were new then, and did not fit any kind of monster I could think of. But they didn’t fit dad either. That was not a place the old man would go for, the few cuts he had made on his eldest’s skin were placed on his forearm, drawing the blood he needed before bandaging the wounds gently.

The scars were still there, thicker than those, but not obvious either, that would have been bad for dad’s reputation.  
I bit my lip, because the neat rows made me think of the mandatory psych class, I had in my third semester. They looked deliberate. It was a common behavior for men to place cuts in places they wouldn’t be found, unlike women who often openly displayed their wounds in a call for help.

Had Dean done that to himself? And why would he do something like that in the first place?! I swallowed and threw my plans to go back to college right out of the window, at least until I knew more about those scars.

Where there more? When did he do that? Was he still doing it?! I couldn’t leave Dean when he could still be in a place as bad as that. Well, at least not again… I knew I hurt my brother when I left for Stanford in the first place. It probably hadn’t been very helpful that I barely even called him for the next four years or so, but I felt like I needed the distance to grow to be part of a normal society.

I still felt like it was the right choice, it was Dean’s own fault that he hadn’t taken his chance for independence back then. For once I felt like I needed to do something for myself first. Suddenly I also felt regret blooming in my chest, watching the way Dean smiled back at me, noticing my eyes on his back. Relishing in the presence of his absent younger brother.

I tried to smile back, packing my own bag afterwards. I stayed with my brother for a while longer.

I kept a close eye on him from then on, trying to find the answers to my questions. I tried my best, but I couldn’t really spot anything out of place. Dean acted just like Dean had been four years in the past. He wasn’t different at all, or maybe I had just been tricked by a façade back then as well?

The feeling of regret settled deep in my stomach, the fear that I didn’t know my own brother as well as I thought I did and the guilt of leaving him behind right next to it.

When Dean wore a simple T-shirt, I spotted more scars on the inner side of his biceps, naturally hidden by his body. They looked much older and rugged. I tried to remember an injury like that, but I couldn’t, even though the lines there where wild enough to have possibly been caused by a monster.

In the crook of his elbow was a nasty burn scar that still looked quite fresh and I swallowed, sincerely hoping that at least that one was related to a case rather than Dean himself.

It was an honest to god accident when I walked in on my brother changing after I had gone to collect some takeaway chicken in the restaurant next to the motel.

Dean was only clad in some boxershorts that left nothing to the imagination and an old sweatshirt while digging in his duffle for some pants. There were straight rows of thick lines down both of his thighs just beneath the shorts.

I stared, barely able to process what I was seeing, the door falling closed behind me. Dean was in much the same state, his gaze going through me rather than meeting my eyes. After what was probably a whole minute of both of us holding their breath, the older Winchester sighed heavily, dropping his duffle and sitting down on his bed instead, burying his face in his hands.

My lips faltered, trying to find the words I should say, but nothing came to my mind. If I was honest with myself, I had known about this for a while now, but actually getting confirmation wasn’t as satisfactory as it usually was, considering how much hurt was embedded in that topic.

I ended up sitting down next to Dean, still staring at the cluster of scars collected on the upper thighs of my brother. He let me stare without denying anything or running from the confrontation. That was supposed to be good, right?

But it didn’t feel right with Dean, who always smiled his own hurt away, keen on keeping me safe since the day I could remember. Be it monsters, dad or simply the harsh reality, Dean always tried to protect me from it, seeing him laid bare like that was uncomfortable in more ways than one.

I inspected the lines. Some of them were like the ones covering the skin stretched across his hipbone, fine, barely visible at all, neat and controlled. Others were like the ones on his biceps, thick and ragged, colored welts etched into his skin. Most were straight, orderly, but there were some that crisscrossed the other lines, one end deeper than the other, as if whatever blade had been held in Dean’s hand slipped away, seemingly out of his control.

They mirrored the mindset my brother had been in when the scars still had been fresh wounds. I felt moisture gather in my lashes, but was unable to let the tears fall, because all I wanted to ask was: Why? But that would be mean, because if I was completely honest, I already knew why. It would be unfair to ask as long as Dean did not want to talk about it.

Instead, I asked something that had been weighing on my mind since discovering the scars on my brother’s biceps. “When did you start?” Because the scars there? They looked older than four years and that meant they had been carved while I was still living with Dean and dad, I had just been unable to notice it back then.

Until now Dean’s hands had been firmly fisted in the fabric that bunched around his waist, the sweater just a little too big to actually fit him. Comfort, warmth, security.

He let go of it to pull the side of his underwear up a little more, exposing more scars along the way. His fingers followed a patch of lines that looked shaky, unsure. “I did the first ones when I was thirteen or so. Dad left us in a small town for weeks. They bullied me at school. You were eight, in the middle of your defiant phase, screaming at me with a temper tantrum every other day. I liked my knifes, they were all gifts from dad, so one day I just asked myself what’d happen if I cut myself with it. I was an idiot, of course nothing happened. Nothing at all.”

I still didn’t want to ask why, but he made it sound like it was a stupid thing he did when he was just barely even a teen, so it just came out of my mouth without much control or thought behind it. “So, why did you continue doing it then?”

Dean shrugged by my side, I felt the motion where our shoulders were touching. He let his shorts go to cover the scars up with his palms, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the display.

“I didn’t for a while afterwards. But dad was absent more and more often after that, we changed schools a lot and you hated it. There was a really creepy teacher in Oregon, you probably can’t remember him. I just felt bad about the world and myself. When dad wasn’t around to punish me, I decided I should just do it to myself.”

Even while Dean was talking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of his hands and the scars they were trying to cover up, not quite managing with the various lengths of all the different cuts. Then one of them suddenly let go only to grasp at the few scars the broke the pattern and wandered up his hip. The older Winchester bent forwards a little, his finger softly scratching over old lines there.

“I didn’t do it often. I felt like a pansy while doing it, it’s a girl thing, but after… You know, after… that… I felt his hands there all the time, and I’d rather hurt and bleed than feel him, so I cut myself again and again. It got out of control and dad found out. He told me to stop, so I did.”

The words felt like a kick to the balls, because I should have known. Dean had been in a horrible place after that.. It was clear that none of us had known how to handle the situation. Hell, Dean still struggled with calling what had happened by it’s name. Not that I was doing much better, but thinking about the fact that Dean had been raped as a teenager just hurt so much that it was easier, without calling out that word.

I’m pretty sure John never used that word either, not even directly after it had happened.

I could vividly picture the way dad told Dean to stop. It probably involved screaming and a fist to the face. I couldn’t remember that incident in particular, but it had been a common occurrence around the time.

“Do you still do it?” I spoke up again, feeling my own voice waver dangerously.

“No. I had a bad phase after…” Dean was hesitating and I knew exactly what that meant. “After I left?” I guessed, finally pulling my eyes back up to meet my brother’s face. It was the blonde’s turn to swallow.

“Yes… Dad was… Dad was furious when he found out I drove you to the station. It was the worst beating since. Well, since I lost you when you were like twelve. He beat the living shit out of me, and I let him, because I felt like a fuck up. I made you leave and then dad left after that and well, I was alone.”

The tears that had been blurring my vision since finding my brother like this were finally able to fall and before I knew it, I was hugging my brother with all my might.

“You didn’t make me leave you fucking idiot! It wasn’t your fault, but I just.. I felt suffocated, I didn’t want to hunt, I felt like there were so many other things out there I should do and dad, dad was an asshole! All we did as a family was fight, he abused and neglected us, especially you! I couldn’t watch how he hit you any longer. I always felt like I was the reason you couldn’t just leave him! I’m so sorry for leaving you.” I confessed, biting my lip so I wouldn’t end up sobbing.

Dean’s own arms were gentle when they surrounded my taller form, one hand instinctively finding my hair. “It wasn’t your fault either, that’s not what I was trying to say. I know dad’s an asshole sometimes but he’s our father, he still loves us, he’s just not very good at, how would you say, ahh expressing it. He’s scared, that’s why he was always so hard with us. I could’ve never just left him even though he hurt me plenty of times.” My brother answered softly, desperately trying to relieve my guilt.

I nodded carefully, touching my brother’s biceps where I knew more scars were hidden away.

“So yeah, I was all alone for a while. That was never good for me. I guess I just had a very late teenage emo phase when I was twenty-two, did a lot of damage then. Haven’t seen dad since, he said I’m old enough to hunt on my own, but he started texting me jobs, gave me something to do. I stopped, I promise.  
It wasn’t even actually helping, I know that, but the pain was nice for a while. I grew out of it.”

I wanted to tell Dean that things like weren’t simple phases, that you don’t grow out of depression or PTSD or other mental health problems, but that was a can of worms for another time. For now, I just held onto my brother, allowing both of us the comfort we had withheld from each other for way too long.

“I believe you, but please don’t hurt yourself again. If you ever feel like cutting yourself again, please tell me first, even if I’m back at college or halfway across the country, I’ll try to help you. Don’t hurt yourself again, please Dean.” I pleaded with him and my brother nodded shortly, pushing my face into his neck so I wouldn’t see him cry.

Self-harm is not something you can simply outgrow. Although Dean never got a precise diagnosis on his mental health, I was still sure the cutting was somehow related to all the traumatizing things he had lived through in his childhood. From time to time I could relate.

Over the following years Dean’s collection of scars grew, but most of them weren’t formed by his own hands. For Winchester circumstances that was good enough, especially when I was the one that got to bandage my brother’s thighs.


	10. 9. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting a bone / Working to exhaustion --- Dean, Bobby, POV Rufus
> 
> No additional warnings except for hint's of canon (temporary) character death

It was in the middle of a Friday night when Bobby called me. Of course I picked up, because Bobby was a good friend of mine, but first and foremost he was a hunter. It simply wasn’t his style to interrupt my sleep over nothing, so I was alarmed as soon as I saw his name flash over the screen, instantly assuming that he was in trouble.

“Bobby, you good?!” I asked right away after picking up and the gruff man grunted in confirmation, a sound only someone as familiar with his pallet of noises for words as me was able to identify.

“Yeah, I’m not calling for myself.” He said after taking a gulp of what I knew was either coffee or whisky. “Sure, where do you need me?” I asked, pushing myself out of bed, my knees creaking in protest until they cracked in relieving way when I put my jeans on.

“Dean missed his rendezvous time today.” The other hunter admitted and I snorted. “What, come on, the boy is what, twenty-seven, twenty-eight by now? I’m sure he doesn’t need you to supervise him like a teen anymore, he out on a date or what?!” I teased my friend at that.

The line went silent for a while and the concern I felt while picking up in the first place returned full force.  
“Sam has been missing for a couple of days now, he’s probably in a bad place. We were having some struggles with a yellow-eyed demon, probably had something to do with it. Dean is obviously going crazy with worry. Hasn’t been sleeping, barley eating either. He went after a lead, hunting down demons on his own while I’m supposed to find his brother for him. He promised to check in this evening, but he’s not even answering his damn phone!”

Bobby blew up at me and I nodded in understanding, my own hum enough to convey my feelings to the other hunter. That indeed was concerning. Dean was a boy that sticked close to his duties of reporting what was going on, at least when he was able to. 

“Okay, so where do you need me?” I repeated my question from before after the sound of Bobby’s heavy breathing ceased a little to let the other man calm himself back to his usual composure.

“He’s not supposed to be far from here. He mentioned that junkie place a city over while looking for leads. If you could check it out..?” He didn’t need to finish his request. “Sure, no problem, I’ll call you, bring him home.” I answered simply before hanging up, coat draped over my shoulders and car keys in my hand.

The drive wasn’t long and in the middle of the night there was no traffic at all, so I reached the place in under an hour.  
Honestly, the place looked spooky even to me in the middle of the night, streetlamps busted a long time ago, graffiti painting the cracked concrete in the white moonlight. It was eerily silent when I stepped out of the car, flashlight and gun cocked, bottle of holy water readied in my pocket.

The abandoned property was infamous in this region of small towns. A bankrupt project of a largescale apartment block, like all the big cities had them. It was left in a state of decay, bringing with it a population of wild animals and a hotspot for criminals of all kind, especially those damn drug dealers. It’s a goddamn crack house, that’s what it is!

It smelled like piss when I stepped in and there was the scratching sound of rats fleeing into the darkness of the corners while I made my way upwards. Other than that, it was silent. There was a homeless guy huddled on the third flight of stairs I climbed, but he barely stirred when I passed him, probably drunk out of his mind. Not that that was a good thing, but at least that meant he wouldn’t be able to tattle on us if we stirred some trouble here, killing demons or other things on our way out.

On the seventh floor was a light somewhere, slight shadows and muffled noises reaching the staircase. I put my own light out and shuffled forwards, trying to stay hidden in case Dean needed help to break himself out.

What I found instead, was a large devil’s trap spray-painted in the middle of a room, lit by a single lamp, three dead bodies lying within it’s confines. A hunched form was sitting on the floor close by, a book draped in the person’s lap and papers filled with handwritten notes strewn around him.

I recognized the short blond hair and the bulky jacket even in the semi darkness of the place, it was Dean. I stepped into the room and a gun was pointed in my direction, the usually mirth filled green eyes of the boy hard like steel while holding his weapon. I lifted my arms unthreateningly and saw the exact moment recognition flashed through the other hunter’s face.

“Rufus?” He asked in a confused tone and I grinned back at him. “Yeah it’s me. You had your uncle pretty worried, you know.” I told him while crouching next to the blond Winchester. “Aw shit, I forgot I was supposed to meet him.” He groused while closing his book and gathering the notes.

That’s when I noticed the mangled state of his right hand and grabbed his wrist. He let me, even though there was even more confusion in his expression now.

I turned back to the dead bodies of the demons shortly and sighed at the state of his hand that obviously indicated he had been beating the shit out of someone. Not that he would actively do any damage to these monsters like that, but I got the sentiment, the fear of being unable to find his brother needed an outlet at one point or another.

“You didn’t take his calls either. What if he found Sam and you didn’t answer? I know you’re worried boy, but use your goddamn head, yeah. You won’t be able to help like that.” I chastised him, although my tone was more gentle than I’d like to admit.

Dean nodded, his eyes looking watery even in the dim light of the lamp. “Let me straighten those fingers out, that’s a least three broken. Then we’ll drive and meet up at Bobby’s yeah?” I suggested and the blonde gave a weary sigh while I sat myself down in front of him, book and notes pushed to the side for now.

The younger hunter held his hand out expectantly and I grabbed his wrist carefully, minding the swelling already coloring his flesh a deep purple color. I pulled a thick roll of bandages from my inner pocket before covering the last three digits with my own much larger hand.

Without giving a warning I pulled middle, ring finger and pinky straight at which Dean growled loudly, but swallowed any other sounds of pain dutifully, biting his lip in the process.

I smoothed the palm of his hand over until it was completely flat and ran over every single finger a few times to make sure that all bones aligned themselves somewhat correctly before bandaging the three broken fingers together. I continued the bandages past his wrist so the whole hand would be a little more secure while healing and maybe stop Dean from doing something reckless for at least a few more days. 

After that was dealt with the younger hunter repacked his bag hastily and I called Bobby to ensure him that everything was fine and we were coming over soon. I mustered the notes still lying around in my side-eye while I was at it and recognized several names on there. Demons, old, evil and infamous demons.

The name mentioned the most was Azazel and I swallowed. Whatever was going on really wasn’t good, especially not if that demon really picked an interest in the Winchester boys… 

Usually I would try to stop someone with a hand like that from driving, especially an old car like that with a stick of all things, but I knew exactly how Dean got with his car, so I let it slide.  
It’s in the middle of the night after all, there was hardly a chance we would pass another car on the way back to Bobby’s.

The old man was already standing in the door when we arrived at the Singer Salvage Yard. Dean passed him by with a muttered word that sounded like “Sorry.” But the demure tone was so unbefitting of the boy that I had some difficulties with grasping the sense of his words.

Bobby answered with an equally garbled: “Glad you’re okay.” Before they disappeared inside, waving me in after them. Inside I was instantly offered a cup of black, delicious coffee. The only excuse or thanks I would get for calling me over in the middle of the night for something that looked harmless now that we all knew Dean had been save all along.

Nonetheless I was glad they called, because here in the good lighting of the house they both looked like shit. Well Bobby usually looked like shit, thanks to getting old, drinking, a lifetime of hunting and what I assumed was chronic insomnia.

Dean on the other hand looked much older than his late twenties with dark bags under his eyes and a gaunt expression. Bobby hadn’t been laying it thick apparently, the boy probably hadn’t slept for days, not to mention that Dean Winchester losing his insatiable appetite never meant anything good.

I followed both men into the kitchen, where more books were stacked around the table and a laptop was whirring angrily, probably because the thing had been running for hours on end by now. It didn’t look like they would take a break anytime soon, so I pulled another chair over and sat myself down next to them.

“So, what are we looking at?” I questioned and Bobby turned the laptop in my direction, stating all the facts they currently had on their search for Sam and the yellow-eyed’s “special children”. It was a disturbing scene that played in my mind’s eye while they explained the situation.

The sun had risen without any of us noticing it, still posed over notes and books, laptops and coordinates.

It was only when Dean got up, probably for more coffee rather than a bathroom break and tumbled to the floor like a sack of bricks that we were ripped out of our collective trance-like state of concentration.

“Shit!” Bobby cursed loudly while crouching next to the already stirring form of the unconscious Winchester. I sighed deeply, realizing what just happened and opened the fridge for a bottle of water.

Bobby was carefully tapping the pale cheek of the blonde and I handed him the water bottle. When Dean opened his lids after several fluttering attempts, the green of his eyes was muted and he looked more than a little confused, beads of sweat collecting in his hairline.

The older hunter helped him sit up and drink before leading him to the couch a room over. I followed at least to the doorway, so I could survey what was going on.

“What happened?” The younger finally asked while his uncle inspected his bandaged hand, making sure that it was still set correctly after the fall, fussing as long as he was allowed to with Dean’s defenses down like this.

“You collapsed, idjit. Probably exhaustion, you haven’t slept since Sam’s disappeared on us! I know what you’re going through, but you need to eat and sleep like any other human being, or you’ll be the one that ends up dead. Now rest, fucking rest at least a little. You’re no help like this.” He demanded, although his voice was quaking with fear and pain and then relieve when his words settled with Dean and he actually laid back down.

“Okay. I’ll sleep a little. But you should too. I’m sure Rufus can keep the place running for a few hours.” He agreed, exhaustion still strong in the boy’s voice.

I was glad for my dark complexion at that, because I could feel the flush burning on my face. It wasn’t often that people trusted someone like me. Hunters live a lonely life, other than Bobby I had no close friends, no family, nothing.

On top of that I felt like I could understand the old man’s obsessions about these boys a little better now that one of them actually trusted me to watch his back while he slept.

Dean took off again as soon as he was awake, hunting down a new lead.  
On one side I was deeply impressed with the boy’s hard work and determination to save his brother, on the other side I worried. What would happen when Dean would find his brother dead?

It was three days later when the Winchesters finally made contact again and the older one sounded absolutely wrecked.

For a long year Bobby and I kept the boy’s secret. That boy was more man than most would ever be, bringing the ultimate sacrifice for his brother. His uncle was desperate as the months ticked by, but there was nothing we could do. A deal with a demon to save someone who’s already dead.

The hell hounds come yowling loudly, but Dean was the only one able to hear them. Sam told us he went down kicking and screaming, pain and terror the last things he was able to feel before dying. Bobby didn’t have a choice, except for telling the younger hunter about the truth and Sam was devastated about the deal.

We buried Dean. None of us wanted to burn his body even though it was curtesy for any hunter that died in the field. The younger brother said his goodbyes, vanishing for months, cutting the hunter part out of his life. It was probably the right decision, but both Bobby and I were in way too deep by now for that. There was nothing else we could do but hunt, trying to save people even though we both knew we couldn’t even save the few people dear to us.

We parted ways and I didn’t hear from my friend for more than a year. When I returned both brothers were once again standing by his side and it felt like a miracle had happen


	11. 10. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carved marks / Fainting --- Dean, Sam, POV Castiel
> 
> This chapter features a teeny tiny bit of Castiel/Dean, but also graphic blood, actions that could be interpreted as accidental self-harm, mentions of hell, Alastair and Past Rape/Non-con, talk about PTSD and Dean experiencing a flashback. Be cautious with this one, skip it if it's triggering!

Prayers to god are simple, because god hears everything you simply have to talk to him. Not even necessarily out loud, in your head, that is enough. But god has chosen to no longer listen to what his creations were trying to tell him. Or maybe he did, but he has not answered a prayer in millennia. His whereabouts were unknown, his voice unheard, all we knew was that he hadn’t done anything with the prayers he was able to hear in a long long while.

Prayers to a specific angel were much more difficult. Firstly, you needed the right name for the right angel. We all have our specialties, our very own field of expertise you could say. An issue often required one specific angel to be answered.

Secondly, you needed luck, because some angels have learned a thing or two from god in that regard. There was no one there that told us we were in duty of answering prayers any longer.

And last but not least, an angel can not hear every prayer at every place, we are not almighty creatures.

The Winchesters had stopped actively praying a long time ago. Well, Dean certainly never did after his mother died when he was still way too young to understand that angels didn’t come to save his mom, who prayed and went to church and all that.

And Sam stopped his prayers when he was in his teens, when the brothers would go to school covered in bruises and nobody said a thing about it, when he was teased mercilessly for being a nerd and the new kid everywhere they went, when men trice their age started to offer his brother money and especially after the monsters became a regular occurrence in his young life. For them, there was nothing left to believe in.

Dean’s time in hell certainly didn’t evoke faith in heaven either, although Sam was delighted at first when he was introduced to the concept of angels actually existing. His joy quickly faded when he learned that heaven knew of all the hardships they had faced and had done nothing to help them through it.

It took a long time until they began to trust me. That I was the one angel that personally pulled Dean out of hell certainly helped in that regard. The older brother and I had a bond, nobody could deny that, not even the blond hunter himself. The friendship that bloomed between us was unique, I could feel it in the thrumming of my grace.

After years of sticking close to the hunters I knew all their tells, even though I still struggled with all the knacks of humanity from time to time. All of us knew that what Dean and I had was much more than friendship at this point, but there was no need to verbalize our feelings. We knew, Sam knew and that was enough for us.

Even though we were closer than any other human pair I knew of, Dean didn’t pray. I understood why, we were equals in our relationship, prayers were reserved for something larger than yourself, something of much greater strength than me.

The only prayers I received were from Sam, when he was desperate and needed help, he would call my name and I would know I was needed, dutifully appearing at the side of the brothers.

I was beginning to think that Dean was unable to pray after cutting god out of his life for such a long time, because by the time I appeared to help them out he was often injured. His calls would have reached me, even if he only wished for my help subconsciously. At least that would have been the case if he was still able to pray? It was such a difficult train of thought, because I was unable to process what that could possibly mean for the both of us as a couple. I tried not to think about it anymore, instead enjoying the short moments in my long life we got to spend together.

And then suddenly, there was a call that was so distinctly Dean, I barely knew how to handle it, and at the same time it was so far from the snarky, sarcastic man I knew, that I was unsure of myself.

I blinked, expanded my wings and ended up in a dark room, that smelled of mold and decaying wood. A cellar then, I concluded as I looked around, Dean’s voice still partly in my head, pleading for me to save him, but also here, reverberating through the underground space, grunting in pain and the familiar sounds of his breathing coming in rapid panicked pants.

I turned around rapidly and found both Winchesters bound to chairs, sitting back-to-back in a large painted circle on the concrete floor. The sigils used were unfamiliar, runes rather than anything to do with heaven or hell, a woman standing in front of Dean, clutching his arm and dragging a blade through his skin.

The blond hunter was biting his lip so hard that the skin around his teeth was ripping. He was practically biting through it at this point, to stop the sounds of pain, while Sam was trashing in his spot, telling her to stop feverishly.

I knew that Dean handled pain well. Much better than the average human at least. He was well accustomed with it sadly, because for the largest part of his life there had been no one there to protect him from all the pain the world had to offer.

The wounds on his arms were numerous and deep enough to draw a significant amount of blood, that was dripping down into a bowl, while the woman muttered enchantments. Ah, a witch then.

I’m sure the cuts hurt, but not bad enough to have a fully conscious Dean nearly in tears, I bet his lip would be more painful if he was actually feeling what was going on now.

I remembered Dean sitting in much the same position while a certain demon was crouching before him when I went to hell to save his soul. Alastair enjoyed licking the cuts he made, ripping more flesh away with his fangs, Dean’s arms so flayed open and uneven that the white of his bones was shining through.

The hunter had been crying back then, but didn’t make a sound other than his breathing, filled with panic, just as he was now and I realized that he was currently not actually facing the witch at all, but that his memories were strong and fearful enough that he called out for me to save him once again.

I felt furious, white hot rage burning the feelings of mercy away while I threw the woman into the wall behind her with the simple flick of my wrist. The impact was so hard she couldn’t even produce another sound before she died.

My wings were flaring out behind me, ruffled and vengeful as Dean couldn’t even open his eyes with how scared he was. Sam was looking at me, more panic painting the young man’s face and I realized he was begging me to calm down.

I folded my wings back and took a deep deliberate breath that I didn’t actually need because I could live just fine without any oxygen, but I understood the calming quality of the technique.

Sam relaxed together with my posture and I briefly touched his forehead, healing the injuries he had acquired in the fight with the witch before they got captured. Next I cut the restraints off them, but Dean didn’t move, a steady rivulet of blood dripping from his mangled lips and arms at the same time, tinkling loudly into the bowl. I kicked the offending object across the room, spilling my beloved’s blood all over the cellar before crouching down in front of him.

The kneeling position eerily reminded me of a prayer, how ironic.

“Dean?” I called out softly and the blonde’s breathing stuttered even more painful. “Please love, open your eyes?” I asked tentatively.  
He did and stared at the runes that had been carved into his forearms, a sob escaping through grit teeth and a mouth full of blood. More tears were falling down his face and I felt Sam’s presence at my side, just as eager as myself to calm his older brother.

It looked like our endeavor was in vain though, because the older Winchester was caught up deeply in the throngs of his flashback. Sam looked like he was about to cry himself in the corner of my vision, probably because he had never seen his brother in a state of such distress before.

Suddenly one of the blonde’s hands moved rapidly and scratched at the cuts, that were sluggishly bleeding like a madman, burying his nails deep and ripping away chunks of flesh.

The younger brother turned away from the sight rapidly, the sight certainly had nauseating qualities to it. I grabbed his wrists to stop him, my own hands much stronger than Dean’s. He stopped fighting after only a few attempts and instead let go of his lip to plead with me. It was like “Alastair” was all he could say when he thought himself in the presence of the demon when all he probably wanted to say was “Please stop” instead.

His teeth were painted red, they had punctured the flesh of his bottom lip deeply, maybe even going through it, I wasn’t sure but there was definitely a concerning amount of blood, some of the thick liquid even dripping from his nostrils because he had tried to swallow it and chocked was my best guess.

I let go of one hand so I could touch the man’s cheek lovingly instead, but he flinched, instantly going back to scratching at the wounds and I felt a deep sigh bubbling in my chest. When I pulled my hand back the flinch was even harder, as were the sobs when I grabbed his wrist again.

He was really fighting my grip this time, pulling and tearing until suddenly two of the larger cuts ripped and connected, blood painting my hand along the way. The sight had Dean fainting. It wasn’t the pain, I knew he could have handled it, but it was the fear his brain could no longer function with, suddenly dropping him into the relieve of unconsciousness instead.

I was glad, because that was my chance to heal his injuries as well, afterwards I easily lifted him into my arms, ignoring that he was of a much wider build than my own vessel was.

Sam looked crestfallen when I turned back to him. “What…? What happened? Was he… Did he just pass out because of a panic attack?” The younger brother asked full of concern and I nodded.

“It was one of Alastair’s favorite past times to carve marks into the skin of your brother. And then flesh and bones and really anywhere he could reach. He would write his name thousands of times until there was nothing of Dean left. He was reliving it.” I state the truth, although I knew exactly that the older Winchester wouldn’t have told his brother by choice.

“You… You know what happened to Dean in hell?” He stammered back, looking at the milky white expanse of skin that had been a mangled mess before I had healed the poor man. I nodded back at him without taking my eyes off Dean’s closed lids. His face was still way too pale, the freckles I loved so much appearing all over the place.

“A little. We should probably get out of here.” I said and Sam dutifully relied the address of their current motel, so I could bring us back with a single flap of my wings. The fast way of traveling was still weird for the humans and the younger brother gladly let himself lie on the bed afterwards.

I laid Dean down on the other bed and helped him out of his ruined jacket before getting him comfortable, sitting down by his side like a guardian while he was unconscious.

“He didn’t tell me a thing after he came back. Alastair said a few things when we met him up top, but I wasn’t sure if he spoke the truth.” Sam confessed, covering his eyes with the back of his hand, probably regretting even getting out of bed this morning. Understandable.

“Everything he said was true. He did everything he could come up with in the span of the forty years Dean spent with. I only saw a few things, it’s inevitable to connect one’s minds when you leave hell together, not to mention that I had to rebuild his human being from scraps, I had to look into his memories for that, but I didn’t look at everything either. I only took what was necessary, and even that was much more than Dean would have wanted. I feel ashamed about taking his privacy away like that. I’m also glad, because I knew he would never speak of the happenings in hell.” I confessed, still staring at Dean all the while.

His breathing was going easy now and I hoped he would feel better when he woke up. I reached out for his wrist and touched the skin with the tips of my finger. I couldn’t manipulate dreams, but the warmth and happiness I tried to transmit would definitely reach him in one way or another.

“Alastair raped him, didn’t he?” Sam asked resigned in a way that implied he already knew from his brother’s behavior alone, but verbal confirmation sometimes had the ability the relieve pain that came with bottled up worries. “Yes.” I simply answered because I hoped it would bring that kind of relief towards the young man sitting across the room.

“It’s not the worst thing he did to him though.” I muttered after, feeling bitter about my own inability to prevent all the pain the man I loved had to live with now.

The intense brown color of Sam’s eye met mine and for a while we looked at each other, sharing regret and compassion towards the man both of us loved in our very own way.

When I looked back down at Dean, I met his fascinating forest green iris and caught a faint smile adorning his lips. The beautiful bow lips I could lose myself at while staring. “Thanks for the save.” He muttered and sat himself up. He was still a little shaky, but looked much better overall.

Not that that was saying much after the sever state of panic he had been in when he was awake for the last time. “No problem. You could have called for me sooner though.” I answered, trying not to sound condescending, but really hoped to get my point across nonetheless.

“I know. Next time.” The blonde promised before pulling me over for a chaste kiss. “I’m fine now, because I know Alastair is dead. It won’t happen again.” Dean said then, sounding determined while watching over my shoulder to catch his brother’s eye.

It took barely two seconds for Sam to barrel over and hug the both of us, his sheer size pressing us down on the mattress. The childish giggling that rang around the room was a relieve for all of us. Dean was right, it wouldn’t happen again, because neither of us would let anyone get away with something like that ever again.


	12. 11. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiding an injury / Improvised surgery --- Dean, Sam, Jo, POV Ellen
> 
> I repeat, I am no doctor, this chapter is pure online research, not actual knowledge xD

I have lived in Nebraska for a whole while now, and I really loved the place, but even I had to admit that winters there sucked. It was cold and wet at least until snow settled down and refused to disappear for months afterwards.

Usually that wasn’t a problem, because we were well settled in the roadhouse whenever a storm hit. The heating worked wonders for the old house, there was enough water to last us a lifetime and even more beer than that, not to mention the storage filled to the brim with food for our restaurant.

The Harvelle’s had no need for a bunker, our roadhouse was much better than that. It had never been a problem before that the next hospital was at the very least an hour-long drive away. Hunters weren’t exactly known for their inclination towards public healthcare anyways, preferring their very own backwater quacks and basic first aid kits.

It was something I definitely couldn’t agree on, health is way too precious to waste away just because of the unwillingness to visit a goddamned hospital! But in the end, it wasn’t really my problem, because Jo and I? We weren’t actively hunting.

At least until the Winchester boys came along and put ideas in my young daughter’s head. Jo was a wild one, and who was I to stop her? After so many hunts I myself had in my past, always at Will’s side, I couldn’t just tell her she wasn’t allowed to join the fray without looking like a total hypocrite.

I wasn’t worried either, because I knew Dean would rather get his head bashed in than let anything happen to my Joanna. I was fine with her going out with them, as long as the boys laid low with the flirting, or I would be the one to bash their heads, but they definitely knew about that. They were more part of the family by now than anything else, so they ended up teasing Jo like they would a little sister, washing the protectiveness I felt towards my daughter away around them.

This time it was supposed to be a small hunt anyways, a newly formed nest of vampires, probably only four or five of them, most likely still inexperienced. It should be easy for them because although Sam and Dean were still young, they had an intimidating amount of experience on their backs.

The snowstorm hit us completely unexpected. It didn’t take long until it made the news, snow was piling up thick and rapidly, the wind rattling the windows. They warned about possible power outings and told people to stay home, to avoid driving, businesses should stay closed. I prayed the kids would find their way home safely after the hunt.

By the time I heard the trademark rumbling of the impala it was pitch black outside, fresh snow billowing in the cold air, unable to settle down with the strong winds. The three of them rushed inside and I was glad to have them back.

They looked fine to me, Sam was the only one with even a scratch. Jo sat him down at the bar to clean the cut and bandaged it to her satisfaction. The younger Winchester was relaxed all the while, joking about the cold and his hunger.

I grinned, offered to cook some dinner at that. Dean perked up instantly whenever food was mentioned, insisting that I should make chicken soup, the best food for waiting out a storm like this one.

I disappeared in the kitchen for a while, filling a nice pot with leech, potatoes and meat. It took a while to cook to perfection, so I went out to ask the details of the hunt while it was brewing. A simple recipe, not demanding much attention, perfect at times the bar was open and the patrons wanted to chat about the latest news in the trade of hunting the supernatural.

It was nice, having to whole bar to ourselves for once, but the kids were lounging away in their usual spot anyways.

Jo was sitting on the table, swinging her legs when I sat myself down on a barstool close to them, animatedly talking about the vampires. The hunt had been as simple as expected for once, a nice change according to the brothers, who apparently had an inside joke about hunts that looked easy spectacularly blowing up in their faces.

Sam looked relaxed, his nose buried in a book, leaning across the whole bench, from time to time nipping at the coffee Jo had gotten him after cleaning up.

Dean on the other hand was sitting down across from him stiffly. He looked uncomfortable, a little pale around the nose, now that I took a closer look.

“Hey Dean, are you cold? Not feeling well? Should I get you something other than the soup?” I asked the older brother worriedly. The thousand-watt smile that earned me eased my mind though. The blonde always had a way of being grateful, that caught me off guard with his usually sarcastic exterior.

“Nah, thanks Ellen, I’m good.” He answered and Sam leaned his torso over the table, book forgotten as long as he got to tease his older brother. “Oh really, because you know, Jo and I totally saw the way that vamp flung you halfway through the barn with only his left hand. You got a splinter up your ass or something?”

Dean grumbled at that while Jo giggled. “Ha ha, very funny.” Was his only retort and I rolled my eyes at their childish antics.

“Okay, if you say so. Soup will be done in a minute.” I told them anyways, because in that storm it was pretty probable that he was already coming down with a cold. Dean nodded, once again a soft smile painting his lips, so I quickly got up again and got the pot, Jo following instinctively to collect the plates and spoons.

The chicken soup turned out just as expected, absolutely delicious, the warm meal perfect while the storm was still raging, snow covering the window panes.

Everyone dug in with gusto while some country songs played as background music over the old speakers. It felt like a normal night like this, except for the fact that none of the other usuals were lounging around the bar.

I was done with my first plate and was about to hand out seconds when I noticed that Dean had barely touched his meal. The blond Winchester was swirling the spoon through the thick liquid, but didn’t bring it up to his lips once while I watched him, instead I noticed the way his hand trembled. Dean not eating was unheard of and my worry spiked.

For now, my food was forgotten, because Dean didn’t look very good at all on second inspection. His skin was much paler than it had been half an hour ago, beads of sweat collecting on his temples, his shoulders rising rapidly, probably meaning he was feeling out of breath. There was a pinch between his brows, one of the boy’s many subtle tells that he was in pain.

“Dean? Are you sure you’re not coming down with a fever honey?” I spoke up again and the man in question startled, his trembling fingers dropping the spoon clumsily. His eyes were confused while looking at me and I quickly got up, truly invested by now.

“Don’t worry Ellen, it’s nothing. My ribs hurt a little, that’s all.” He tried to deflect. When I touched his forehead, his skin was clammy. “Sam said you fell. Maybe they’re broken?” I helped him get up and led him to a clean table where he could lay down. Dean was still reluctant to accept my help, but it looked like his pain was getting worse with every move, until he really had no other choice than to lean on me.

“Probably, but that’s fine.” He tried to wave me off again and I bristled. “Dean, I know you definitely had broken ribs before and were fine, but that’s still a serious injury you should get checked out!” I huffed back at him, barely able to suppress my outrage about his ignorance.

By now Sam and Jo were standing by our side, looking apologetic for making jokes on Dean’s account when he was actually hurt. Good, because that was a lecture I’d save for later! Hiding an injury, what a brat!

The blonde’s breath was hitching painfully when his brother helped him out of his jacket and I lifted his shirt up. Dear god, that was an ugly bruise covering his whole side. I carefully touched the outline and the sound Dean produced was absolutely horrifying. I caught sight of Jo flinching in the corner of my eye, but for now the Winchester boy was more important.

I quickly caught his wrist and checked on his pulse. The heartbeat I felt there was fast but faint and the young hunter’s breathing was getting flat. I tried to touch the bruise again when I realized something that had me cursing loudly.

“Dean, I think your ribs punctured your lung.” I told the boy of my suspicions and could see the way panic filled his expression. Sam knew his brother well enough to catch his limbs when he tried to get up and pushed him back down, carefully guiding him to his side so there would be less pressure on the broken ribs.

“No, I was feeling fine at first!” Dean tried to insist and I sat down on the bench so I could catch his eyes while I explained the situation to his foggy brain.  
“That’s because you’re getting worse. You were fine when your ribs broke, but since that moment more and more air left your lung and is currently filling your chest. That doesn’t hurt at first, but it also means your lung can’t fully expand anymore because there is pressure building just outside of it. If that lung collapses, you’re going to die Dean, so you need to lie the fuck down!”

Hell, he was looking worse by the minute, his lips tinged blue while I could only imagine how much blood and air was collected in the boy’s chest cavity, where it definitely didn’t belong.

“Shit, we won’t make it to the hospital like that.” Sam realized at that, because he was probably just as aware of how far along Dean was with his symptoms and after not speaking up about the pain ever since first getting injured.

I tried to think of something that would work, at least until Dean was actually in reach of real medical care and rushed to the kitchen for the first aid kit.

In the two minutes it took until I was back with my kids, the older Winchester boy was already looking worse for wear. His breath was barely even flowing and his eyes were shut tightly to fight the temptation of simply passing out with the amount of pain he had to be in.

Sam emptied the kit on the table, desperately searching for something that would be able to help in a situation like this and I did the same.

In the end tough, it was Jo that pulled my sleeve and handed me her ballpoint pen, she usually had it on her for writing down orders at the bar. I was confused for a second but realized what my daughter was thinking of after looking at the steadily growing bruise covering Dean’s ribs.

The air needed to come out of his chest so his lung could expand again and the boy wouldn’t suffocate on this very table. The air needed a way out, so all we needed to do theoretically, was to make an incision that wouldn’t get him to lose more blood if possible.

I told Sam to hold his brother down as hard as he could while kneeling on the table at Dean’s back, and then I rammed the pen between the injured Winchester’s ribs with my full strength. He jumped a little, groaned in pain, but the reaction wasn’t as lively as I had hoped for.

I pulled the refill out of the pen and soon enough small droplets of blood dripped from it. Hopefully that was enough to get him the time he needed. “Jo, get the car ready!” I told my daughter then and she disappeared outside.

Meanwhile Dean was still grasping for breath, but his lips gained a little color and he opened his eyes again, staring at his brother. Apparently it was working, because at least the young hunter wasn’t getting worse and was able to get to the car while slung around me and Sam, bundled in a thick coat, all of us careful to not dislodge the lifesaving pen.

Dean was laid out along the backseat, his injured side exposed so the air could get out without any obstructions. At one point he lost consciousness, but his breathing was going easier than before, so we let him rest.

It was the longest drive to the ER in my whole life. Dean’s breath was wheezing from the backseat, where his head had been placed in his brother’s lap, interspersed by soft groans at every sharp turn.

I tried to concentrate, because the road conditions were absolute shit. Snow and a thick layer of ice made traction practically nonexistent and the storm prevented even the bright headlights of my truck a clear view of where we were actually going. Jo was giving directions from the front seat next to me as best as she could so I wouldn’t get us lost.

In the end it took us an hour and a half to reach the stupid hospital, but I was sure an ambulance wouldn’t have made it to the roadhouse at all in this weather.

Dean looked dead when Sam gathered him into his strong arms and lifted his brother, but by a miracle the older Winchester boy was still holding on stubbornly, just as we all knew he would.

It had been too dark in the car to make out if his chest had even been moving at all, but the sound of his breath was still there, that had to be enough, surely they would be able to help him here…

I bit my lip and let the kids go while parking the car somewhere that wasn’t directly the front door of the emergency room.

The parking lot was awfully full, storms like this one were always accompanied with injuries, so by the time I actually reached the building, Dean was already admitted and out of sight. Jo and Sam saved a seat for me in between them, so I sat down heavily, exhaustion and worry ladened my mind.

“They said we saved his life with the pen, but it was a close call anyway, just in time. The prognosis is good, they should be able to drain the air and fluids, then a small operation will be enough to fix his lung. It’s a routine procedure.” Sam explained and I nodded, familiar enough with medical talk to understand.

Doctors were always unwilling to tell you someone is fine before an operation took place because there could always appear unforeseen complications, but what he actually wanted to tell the kids was that Dean would pull through. I smiled, relief warming my chest.

The waiting room was loud and bustling, there was a baby crying somewhere and a man screaming, probably a drunk. At one point Jo got all of us some coffee. There was really nothing we could do other than wait it out.

It took a little more than two hours until a nurse called the name Harvelle. I was a little surprised. It wasn’t unusual for the Winchesters to go by a different name, but ours? I grinned, at least it would be easy to pretend to be a family like that.

The nurse led the three of us to a room, the corridors in the back of the building much more silent than the emergency room had been. Thank god, because I felt a fat migraine coming on in my temples.

Dean was already awake when we entered, but still groggy as all hell, quickly forming a shaky peace sign with his uncoordinated fingers when he noticed us.  
“Sorry, the doctors are busy tonight, so unless you want to wait for him, I’ll tell you how it went.” The nurse said and Sam nodded for her to continue.

“The operation went without complications. Two rips were broken while one punctured the lung, causing a sever pneumothorax. The puncture was fixed with minimal effort and the broken bones should heal on their own after their position was corrected. The internal bleeding was minimal, Dean will need to stay here for at least two days anyway, because of the amount of air that got stuck in his chest cavity. For now there is a drainage fixed through a small incision between his rips, it shall not be disturbed. The wound your emergency treatment caused was minimal, although you should definitely look out for infection.”

The woman listed everything we needed to know and went over to Dean to check on his vitals afterwards. “He’s a real fighter, woke up before he was even lying down in bed. Get well soon.” She joked before leaving, laying a call button down on the nightstand before disappearing.

It took a while until Dean came down a little from the anesthetic and the painkillers. It was around four in the morning when he actually looked awake and Jo and Sam were both napping next to his bed, heads buried in the mattress closest to his stomach. It was probably instinctual when the blonde laid his hand down in the wild hair of the younger Winchester. He didn’t stir and Dean smiled fondly.

“Thanks for ramming a pen in me Ellen.” He croaked in what was probably supposed to be a sarcastic tone, but still ended up pretty pained. I cringed, handing him a glass of water.

“That was probably the worst thing I ever had to do. That’s not funny at all Dean.” I told him, although I couldn’t quite manage my usual scolding voice with him right now.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He said after that, unable to look me in the eye. His face was still much paler than usual and the side of his chest was covered in a sterile white plaster, no bandage that could restrict his breathing further, a thick tube morbidly sticking out of his ribcage. I swallowed before reaching out, carefully petting the boy’s cheek.

“Please Dean, never hide an injury again, even if it’s small. Think of my poor heart boy.” My voice was stuttering when I pleaded with him, but the message seemed to actually reach him, because the young hunter was nodding ruefully. “I’m sorry Ellen.” Was all he said.

In the end Dean spent three days in the hospital and healed without even a scratch on him, that lucky bastard, after I had practically died because of the scare he put me through!


	13. 12. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stitches / Childhood trauma --- Dean, POV Sam
> 
> Needles were never Dean's best friend, getting his back stitched together, where he couldn't see what's going on makes him even more uncomfortable for more than one reason.  
> Referenced child abuse, John being a bad father figure, well, normal at this point I guess xD

The monster of the week was a simple ghost, something we dealt with on a more than regular basis. Still, the hunts seemingly never got any easier, because these damn ghosts were all different.

Every ghost required hour long research just to find the body they belonged to and the hard labor of digging a grave up only to put all the dirt back in place, without being seen while literally lighting a bonfire on a graveyard. Ghosts were the remnant of unhappy human souls and attached themselves to things left behind. It could be anything they had a connection to while they were still alive, meaning the search for clues could take days.

And in the end, no one was truly happy, neither the ghost nor the people it had been haunting, because there was no happy ending with ghosts, but only the bitter aftertaste of a ruined life, that ended too soon.

So yes, technically this hunt was an everyday occurrence for me and my older brother. Some scrapes were to be expected, because ghosts tended to throw a tantrum just before their second death.

Dean just had some bad luck, landing himself in the iron fence surrounding this graveyard in particular, while trying to light the corpse up. I expected him to get back up, so I finished the job in the meantime, throwing the match so that unfortunate soul was finally able to leave.

I watched the fire burn for a few minutes, the calm was like a balm after hearing the ghost screech. Dean didn’t join me, so I started looking for him only to find him still crumbled next to that fence.

I jogged over, suddenly feeling another strong wave of adrenalin. The hit hadn’t looked that hard, surely he had to be alright… He was probably just joking around and being an asshole. Still, I found myself crouching down next to him only seconds later, carefully touching his arm.

“Hey Dean, what’s up? Where does it hurt?” I asked him after not immediately spotting anything out of place. Well, at least all his limbs were all pointing in the right direction, that was a win, right?

“My back. Hurts like a bitch, I’m pretty sure that pointy tip up there sliced me open. Not sure how bad it is, so I just… Yeah, wanted to lie down for a little longer.” He mumbled back, so it wasn’t a prank either.

It was clear in his voice that my brother was in some pain, but he was still coherent, his face only a little paler than usual, so it probably wasn’t that bad. Still, injuries to the back were always serious, I decided that it would be best if I at least checked on the wound and his spine before moving him anywhere else.

“I’ll check it out, don’t worry.” I told him and Dean nodded, so I helped him lie on his front before pulling his torn jacket off. His shirt had a long cut on the upper back, blood staining the white fabric along the ragged line. I swallowed, because that was worse than expected.

I went on with my improvised examination anyways, carefully placing my fingers on his neck, following the ridges of his spine down his back. By no means was I a doctor, my medical knowledge was limited to basic first aid, but Dean didn’t feel any pain, except for the vertebras that weren’t currently covered by skin, all the spaces in between felt about right and the joints were in line. Dean also assured me plenty of times that he was feeling fine aside of the obviously gaping wound.

When I was satisfied, I draped the old jacket back over his shoulders and sent my brother to wait in the car, so I could finish up here without him catching a cold sitting on the ground, on top of everything else. He was rather grumpy about that, but did as he was told. I tried to hurry.

Dean looked alright when I got back to the impala, although he was leaning on the car door rather than the seat, so his back wouldn’t touch the precious upholstery of his baby. He appeared calm while I drove, but shortly before the motel was in sight he spoke up, his voice unsure in a way it rarely was.

“So, how bad is it really?”  
“I told you, your back is fine, but the cut’s pretty nasty.” I admitted and Dean gave a firm nod, once again falling into silence until we were back in our room.

My brother steered for the bathroom as soon as we reached it, trying to close the door behind him, but I quickly intercepted the stubborn idiot. “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked him with raised brows.

“Going to clean the wound and bandage it.” The blonde answered as if it was the most logical thing in the world and I was the one retard that just wouldn’t get it, while in reality both of us knew he was the one being unreasonable. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. It’s too deep, you’ll need stitches.” I tried to sound my best no-nonsense, but Dean was still trying to ignore me.

“Nah, I’m sure bandages will do, it doesn’t hurt too bad and you just said my back is fine, so it will be alright.” He said again, trying to wave me off and close the door in my face, I grabbed his wrist instead, pulling him out into the room again. “Liar, you haven’t even looked at the wound yet. We both know that’s not how it works, cuts as big as that one need stitches, or they won’t heal. Now, come here, you’re losing too much blood while standing up, probably why you’re talking bullshit like that.” I teased him while guiding Dean to his bed.

I quickly went to gather everything I’d need while Dean admitted defeat and sat on the bed like he was waiting for the judge to speak a life sentence, the jacket still securely wrapped around his frame.

Before long I had everything at the ready, draped a towel over the mattress for my brother to lie on and got him as comfortable as possible. His face ended up buried in his pillow, his shoes carelessly thrown to the floor while I trashed the ruined jacket.

His shirt was more of the same, by now it was stained all the way down to his ass, the blood seeping even into the hem of his jeans. I cut the rest of the fabric so I could get it off, chucking it into the general direction of the trash. There was time for cleanup after Dean wasn’t bleeding like a skewered big anymore.

I grabbed the second towel, this one drenched in hot water so I could wash away the drying blood. It wasn’t too much blood considering the sheer size of the injury, so I tried to push my concern away for later.

Dean’s back was tense, his muscles well defined with the strength he put into them subconsciously, as if awaiting a hit any time. I tried to be gentle, but fast, knowing how stressed my brother got in situations like this. He had never been a fan of needles.

I tapped his shoulder carefully after the wound was clean enough to have a good look at it. It wasn’t bad, the edge nice and clean, not too deep either.

“I’ll pour some antiseptic over it now, but it’s pretty clean. You’re lucky the fence wasn’t rusty, but you should probably get a tetanus shot anyways, it’s been a while since the last one. I’ll get you some ibuprofen, I’d say about 32 stitches.” I told him as soon as he turned his head a little. He wouldn’t lift his face out of the pillow, but at least his ear was turned in my direction, I knew that meant he was listening.

After instructing him on what I was doing, I got him to swallow three pills and set to work. The antiseptic gel probably burned like hell, but Dean barely even made a noise. That was a pretty clear indicator that he wasn’t doing well, my brother always complained about something or other as long as he was in a good headspace whenever he was injured.

Again I tapped his shoulder, this time waiting until he finally turned his face to look me in the eye. “How are you feeling?” I asked and got the typical: “Fine” back. “Need the thrash can?” I elaborated and Dean really looked pissed this time. “I’m not gonna throw up, it’s just some little needle.”

I sighed und rubbed the bridge of my nose. Dean could be so thick from time to time. “Idiot, it’s not uncommon at all to be scared of needles.” “I’m not scared.”

I really wanted to hit him then, because if anybody knew of the few fears Dean Winchester had, it was me. I let it go. “I know. Try to relax.” I agreed instead and waited until he looked more or less comfortable.

His back was still tense as hell when I finally brought the sterilized needle to his skin. The cut was sluggishly bleeding, but otherwise fine, so the stitches should go smoothly, but my brother made it kind of hard to rearrange the skin in a somewhat straight line.

I knew how much he hated it when someone else was doing this, there was a reason why he always tried to do his stitches himself. It was probably worse because he couldn’t even look at how I was sewing him back together.

I was on the sixth neat stitch when I carefully glanced upwards. One of Dean’s hands was clutching the back of his own neck, sweat sticking the fine golden hair there together, the other one was tearing at the bedding restlessly.

I knew it wasn’t because of the pain, so there was nothing I could do other than to finish my job as fast as possible.

I paused shortly after the twentieth stitch to wipe some blood and sweat away from the cut. Dean’s breathing was fast and stuttering, his expanding ribcage and the movement of his muscles not making this any easier. I tried to tell him to calm down a little, that everything was fine.

Usually it helped when I talked, so I did, randomly spoke about this and that, whatever came to mind. It probably helped because if he couldn’t do the stitches himself, at least my hands were better than anybody else’s my brother once said.

It didn’t help much this time, because Dean muffled his noises with the pillow and it was still obvious that he was close to a fully blown panic attack. I was at stitch twenty-four when it got a little too much for him and he suddenly tried to get up.

“Dean, it’s me, Sam, you need to lie back down, I’m not done yet. Only a few more stitches, I promise. I won’t take long, please Dean.” I tried to plead with him while I bodily pushed him back down into the mattress. His face was flushed and his eyes wild until they finally found my own dark iris and settled there.

He took a deliberate deep breath to calm down, wiping some moisture from his face that probably wasn’t all sweat. Not that that was something Dean would ever admit.  
“Sorry. Wasn’t all here for a moment.” He finally said before laying back down.

I nodded in understanding, because Dean’s fear of needles wasn’t as irrational as most others. I continued my stitching as quickly as possible, and still couldn’t quite keep the memories away.

I was four when I first remembered going to a doctor. Well, he wasn’t a real doctor, but rather a quack that had probably lost his license due to an addiction of some sort. At least I remember the place smelling like an addict lived there, so that was my best guess about the guy. I couldn’t even remember his name, so I didn’t have the chance to at least look him up or figure out what happened with the man.

But dad didn’t have money or insurance back then, so yeah, in his opinion that was the best place to get his oldest son vaccinated, probably for the first time since his wife died. I was glad that John had changed his mind about that by the time I was old enough for my own shots.

Dean had been afraid, like any other eight-year-old when seeing a needle that size.

Dad didn’t take kindly to his eldest’s fears, never had. I remember being scared myself, because Dean was kicking and screaming and dad was screaming back just as loud and in the end two grown men had to hold my brother down until they were finally able to give him the damn shot.

Dean started crying the next time dad took him there and as dad didn’t know how to deal with that reaction either, he screamed at him until it stopped. My brother didn’t speak for a full week after that.

The third time ended in a panic attack and dad finally seemed to understand that he was a part of the problem rather than part of the solution when he tried to place the needle in the arm of his son by himself.

So yeah, Dean probably wasn’t all that afraid of needles to begin with but rather of the hands that wielded them. I was glad he at least accepted mine.

He had a tendency to get sick whenever dad tried to get close to him with a needle in hand, even as an adult.  
He was not able to produce a noise in a situation like that, after it had been ingrained in his very being that he was supposed to be quiet when he was scared or hurt and somebody was patching him up.

It wasn’t as bad anymore most of the times. He rarely dissociated like when he was still a teen and John regularly had to stitch his wounds together, but sometimes he just got lost in his head because of all the bad memories connected to the motion of a needle digging into his skin. Especially with wounds like this one today, where he couldn’t keep an eye on the needle or the person that held it, his mind’s eye inevitably wandering towards John’s rough hands.

It turned out that thirty stitches were enough, so I tied the thread off neatly, cleaned the wound one last time and helped the older hunter with sitting up, so I could bandage his back.

“You did good.” I praised him softly, because he still looked a little too pale to be fully back in the here and now yet and sadly, praise was not something my brother would expect out of our father’s mouth.

Dean nodded absentmindedly while gripping his thighs firmly to collect himself. I had tried more than once to talk my brother into any kind of therapy, because there was an abundance of symptoms of PTSD when it came to my brother, but our nomadic lifestyle, not to mention the hunting wasn’t exactly practical for classical therapy.

At least that was his reasoning next to: “I am not a fucking vet, why should I have PTSD?!” “I do not need a goddamned therapist, because I am not a nutcase.” And last but not least: “For the last time, I do not have childhood trauma or anything like that!”

If anybody had a right to the word childhood trauma it was Dean, but he wasn’t very likely to ever accept that. He probably still held on to the believe that I was blissfully unaware of all the things that went down between him and dad, and yeah, sometimes I wished that was true as well.

For now, all I could do was bandaging my brother’s wounds and softly lean against his side as soon as I was done.

We stayed like that for a whole while until he spoke up again. “You going to drive me to the hospital tomorrow? Still need that stupid shot.” Dean had a charming way if indirectly asking for my company there and I grinned to myself. “Sure.” I answered, trying to suppress the teasing tone creeping into my voice, because both of us knew what he was actually asking.

“Thanks Sammy.” Was all the older Winchester said to me after that, burying his hand in my thick hair for a second before getting up and getting himself a drink. Liquid courage for tomorrow and an excellent excuse why I would need to be the one driving his beloved car to the hospital, while Dean’s hands shook too much to drive stick.


	14. 13. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks / Chronic Pain / Overdose --- Bobby, POV Dean
> 
> Dean is just in a really bad place for this chapter. Sam is in the cage, before he meets up with Lisa, I headcanon that his PTSD flares up badly while he's alone, so yeah, Hell and Alastair warnings. Also discussions of suicidal intension

White hot pain filled my entire world. Even though I knew I was clutching at my impaled right shoulder, I could barely feel the scratching sensation of my own nails on the burning hot flesh there.

Technically I also knew that I was making some kind of noise, my throat burned hot with sobs or screams, I couldn’t tell anymore, I couldn’t hear it either. I couldn’t even remember if I had been sitting down or standing at first, but it certainly felt like I was hanging by the shoulder, all my weight pulling at the badly hurt joint.

My face was just as hot as my throat, it felt sticky and wet, but I couldn’t pull my hand from my shoulder to wipe at the moisture gathering in my eyes, instead I started blinking.

A hand. It was a hand that covered my eyes that wasn’t my own and after blinking several tears out of my fuzzy vision, I was finally able to peak between the fingers.

A feral grin on a pale face. I tried to grasp at the arms extended in my direction, but it felt like I was gliding right through the limbs. Wild gray eyes met mine while the demon’s palm retracted from my face, revealing the flames of hell burning all around us.

Alastair. I would always know Alastair, no matter the form he took or the body he chose to wear because I would always know the burning hot pain his touch brought, it was all I’d ever know.

I couldn’t help the scream leaving my throat when his fingers returned to my face. My hand was useless, I couldn’t grasp at him, I couldn’t even touch him, all I could do was cry when one claw tipped finger broke the surface of my eyeball and popped it with a gleeful smile painting his thin lips, like this was the best Christmas gift he had ever received in his millennia of existence.

My eyes, and then the one remaining eye stared at his grin all along, unable to even move away or close, not even with all the pain and fear I was feeling. Suddenly, my vision blacked out, but my consciousness didn’t.

I found myself completely disorientated, sitting on an old lumpy couch, pressed into the back of it with my legs drawn close to my body, my left hand still desperately clutching at my hurt shoulder.

I felt sick and my breathing was out of control, so for a long while I wasn’t able to move from my cramped position.

I tried to breathe slow and even, although it wasn’t easy, but I started to remember. Hell was in the past. Alastair had been dead for around a year by now. I still wasn’t too sure about that, sometimes I could still feel his hands scorching my flesh, but Sam, Castiel and Bobby had tried to make it clear that he was definitely dead, gone and would never be able to return, neither to hell nor to earth or any other place for the matter.

I pulled the t-shirt down my shoulder and found nothing there. I would have sworn it hurt like there was one of the hooks I was intimately familiar with from hell going through it, but there wasn’t a speck of blood, not even a scratch. It was still sore and I remembered the bottle of pills packed in my jacket, because the painful sensation had been a constant since coming back to life.

I started looking around for it, slowly lowering my legs down to the floor. I knew this place well, even though I had some difficulties right now to remember it.

It was messy, old and uncared for, stacks of book littering every surface available, accompanied by empty bottles of all kind and dirtied cups and other dishes. Ah, it was Bobby’s place. Yeah, that made sense now that I was able to think again.

My heart was still beating a hundred miles an hour, I was sure about that, and I felt paranoid, like Alastair was about to step out of the kitchen and scare me in the childish way he sometimes did, because he knew exactly that I was scared enough of him to jump at a simple “Boo” if he was the one that said it.

I managed to get up anyways, because next to the door hanged my jacket, in the pocket the pills I desperately needed, because the pain in my shoulder was flaring, regardless if I stayed still or moved.

My every step was silent, I could barely breathe, so I couldn’t really produce noises of pain either, at least one good side to all of this.

I pulled my jacket off the hook and stepped back from the door as fast as I could. Bobby’s house was secure, no way a demon would be able to enter unless someone opened the door for him.

I sat myself down on the staircase. It was a good strategic point because I could observe every entry and most windows on the lower level from it. I could also plaster myself to the wall, so my back and hurt side were secure.

I shook some of the pills into my palm and swallowed them dry. It was a common problem since… Since Sam went to hell. Well, technically it wasn’t hell, it was much worse. A tiny little cage, shared with one of the most powerful, and certainly the evilest being god ever created. Non other than Lucifer himself held my brother company for all of eternity.

The pain had been there ever since I returned from hell, but it had been mild, usually accompanying real injuries from hunts or nightmares.  
It had gotten so much worse after Sam was pulled into this mess I made. My brother was never supposed to go to hell. He was a good man, had always been one, honest and dutiful, and he certainly wasn’t stupid enough to make a deal with a demon like I had done to get myself into hell. Between us? He had always been the good one, he didn’t deserve this…

I tried to hunt on my own after that disaster, but the name Winchester wasn’t one much liked in the community. Well, it had never been, but dealing with it all alone again was pretty disheartening.

And that wasn’t the only problem. The nightmares got worse, the pain got worse and then there was… I really didn’t want to call it by it’s name, that made it feel so much worse, but there was really only that one word to describe it. The flashbacks.

I knew by now, sitting on the staircase at Bobby’s feeling drowsy, that that was what had been going on while I had been sitting on the couch. The sudden flares of pain I had been dealing with for months now, and then the flashes of memories, of pain and Alastair and his grin that wouldn’t leave me alone, no matter what I did.

The oppressing feeling that he was always standing just out of my sight, waiting for the smallest of missteps to come at me again even though I knew he was dead.

I had always been an emotional mess. I knew that. Coping wasn’t my specialty, everyone knew that.

Instead of dealing with my problems I overeat and drink and hurt myself and others along the way, be it intentional with a blade in hand or just my regular way of pushing everyone who cared away from me.

I was miserable and conflicted about dad, especially his death and the fear I still felt sometimes when I remembered him. Sam liked to call me the poster boy of PTSD for a reason, even though I would never admit towards my brother that I actually was able to identify with a horrendous amount of symptoms listed in the articles I read about it.

I swallowed hard, a pounding pain settling behind my eyes and the familiar burning of tears. I tried to swallow these emotions as well and when that didn’t work, I swallowed another hand full of pills instead.

They were the good stuff, methadone or something, opiates, they should work wonders when it comes to pain, but my shoulder was still burning nearly an hour after sitting on the stairs, curling myself into a protective ball that would have embarrassed me if it weren’t for the intense pain I was still feeling.

I knew what it meant when the pills didn’t work, but just taking more of them was so much easier than admitting that the pain wasn’t actually coming from my shoulder right now. That it was all in my head, just like Alastair was right now, that my head is working all wrong with stupid trauma and PTSD and chronic pain bullshit.

My life was anything but ordinary and I knew I was different from others ever since learning about monsters when I was barely more than a toddler, but never before had I felt as crazy as right now.

I pressed my hot face into my knees to hide my tears even though there was no one there but me. Not even my brother was left to find me, because he was dead goddamn it! Dead because of me! Hell, if dad knew he would beat the shit out of me.

I tried to swallow my sobs at these thoughts and ended up staring at the orange pill bottle. It was nearly empty. How full had it been when I first grabbed it today? It was still pretty new, I knew that even though my thoughts were scattered all about the place. That wasn’t good, right?

My muscles felt weak and shaky when I tried to get up and I quickly changed my mind, sinking back down to the stairs.

My mind got fuzzy again, staring at the pills and my own pale fingers, in the end I had no idea how long I had been sitting there when the front door fell opened. At first I jumped a little, immediately assuming the worst. I wasn’t even sure if the form entering was supposed to be Alastair or John, all I knew was that I felt small and weak and useless while he entered and it had me cowering even more than I had before.

“Son?” I’d recognize Bobby’s gruff voice anywhere and lifted my head out my legs as best as I could while feeling as sluggish and jittery as I did.

I could feel my slow breathing, but it wasn’t calm, it was stuttering and uncomfortable and didn’t get me enough air at all. Bobby seemed to realize that too and sprinted up the few steps I had managed in my delirious state, so I handed him the pill bottle and he instantly understood.

“Aw shit Dean, wait a sec, don’t try to move.” He murmured back at me and took the methadone out of my hands, disappearing past my line of sight upstairs for a short time.

I was still feeling more paranoid than usual, so I was glad when he came back in record time, being more careful than I was used to as he took my face in his hands, inspecting my eyes with calm even though the movement had me flinching violently.

“I’ve seen needles larger than your pupils, idjit, you really swallowed all those pills, huh.” He growled angrily and I tried to nod, but he quickly stopped me, the question not actually asked but rather stated in outrage at my stupid actions. It wasn’t new to me either, so I just let the older hunter guide me out of my shirt.

I saw him fill a syringe in the corner of my eye and cringed a little while he grabbed my arm and quickly injected the clear substance.

“It’s naloxone. Should counter your methadone fast. You’ll feel better soon.” Bobby explained and I closed my eyes with the sudden relaxation I felt. It wasn’t the drugs, I just knew that uncle Bobby would take care of me as long as it took. He wouldn’t drag me to hospital unless I was actually dying, knowing of all my childish fears.

Not to mention than an opiate overdose like this always brought unwanted attention to certain scars of mine. Not that I had much experience on that topic, but it was certainly something I didn’t need a repeat of.

After a whole while of simply lying down like this, the older hunter sitting by my side patiently, I felt a little clearer. “Why do you have naloxone at home?” I croaked out nervously as soon as I was able to use my voice again.

“I had a friend once, who had an opiate addiction.” Bobby answered calmy, not looking in my direction. “What happened to him?” I asked then and felt a shiver going down my spine, already anticipating the answer. “He’s dead. Overdosed in his apartment. Stopped breathing. I guess it was peaceful death at the very least.” I nodded, falling silent again.

Bobby got up. I didn’t feel as paranoid anymore about being alone for a few minutes this time. He returned with to bottles of water and sat down again. Seeing him actually drink water was unfamiliar.

“Please tell me you didn’t do it on purpose.” The older man finally said after it had been still for a few minutes and I stared at the ceiling, trying to think of a satisfying answer.

Bobby had been as friendly as always. He invited me into his home and fed me, even bought enough booze for the both of us and took me to a doctor to get medication when the pain had gotten out of hand after Sam’s death, without demanding anything of me, not even the bare minimum. He hadn’t forced me to work or hunt or talk to a damn psychiatrist even though I had woken him with my screaming more than once. He didn’t even throw me out of bed or dragged me downstairs to eat.

He let me be and offered companionship when I was able to handle it. He was caring and loving, at least for men like us that barely even knew how to deal out affection after growing up in a rather fucked up environment.

And I hadn’t thanked him or talked about what was going on at all. I was such an ungrateful bastard, had always been one.

I wanted to pinch the bride of my nose, but the feeling of a palm in my face so soon after feeling Alastair’s fingers there and the sound of my own eyeball popping still ringing in my ears was a little too much to handle, so I touched my still sore shoulder instead, so I had something to do with my fingers.

“I had a.. I had a flashback.” I chocked a little on the word but continued, ignoring my own discomfort for now.  
“I was in hell. I saw Alastair. He hurt me and it actually hurt, I was still in so much pain when I came back here and I felt like he was coming for me, like he was here and… yeah, I took some pills and it wouldn’t stop hurting, so I took more… I didn’t try to… I didn’t try to kill myself if that is what you’re thinking, I just wanted the pain to stop.” I finally told him and felt my fingers tightening, at last able to feel other sensations than pain on my shoulder.

Bobby was silent for a few minutes afterwards until he nodded softly. “Okay, we can work with that. We’ll find a way to deal with this.” He assured me and I felt a smile creep onto my tired lips, because I could actually believe in his words.

I stopped taking methadone and was instead handed a mood stabilizer, something commonly used while treating PTSD. I tried not to think about it. Bobby got the pills from a “friend”. He was probably a dealer, but at least I didn’t need to deal with a psychiatrist like that.

I started working on ways to get Sam back. It looked pretty impossible, but hunting had taught me anything in life, then it was that nothing is truly impossible.

After a while I also started helping out at Bobby’s salvage yard, it was the only way I was currently able to repay him for all the things he did for me, because at least for now? Hunting was pretty much out of the picture. And then I met Lisa…


	15. 14. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does not realize they're injured / internal bleeding --- Dean, Sam, POV Donna
> 
> Donna being protective and just generally awesome. I fucking love their idiotic dynamic! Don't forget to leave kudos if you liked the stories so far ;)

After getting familiar with the supernatural everything felt scary at first. A rustle in the dark forest was a wendigo, howling in the night had to be a werewolf, a bled-out body in the morgue, a vampire and a creaking staircase felt like a ghost was watching over your shoulders.

There were two possible ways to deal with this knowledge. You learn to accept it and live with the things lurking in the night, or you lose yourself in a constant state of paranoia. The latter option usually predicted a rather short lifespan according to the Winchester brothers, so I tried my best to live a normal life without losing my mind over every little noise.

At first it wasn’t easy, but there was still plenty of scary things that turned out to be… Well, normal when you really look at them. Weird noises in the house? Mice scurrying around in the walls or a tree branch tapping at the windowpane in a windy night. Howling? Probably just stray dogs or something. Most dead people in the morgue? Just the usual horrible accidents or in some cases the normal human monsters and stab wounds.

It got easier to deal with time. Actively hunting surprisingly helped. Learning the ways to kill beings that on the first glance looked invincible and putting them to rest felt empowering. It made the monsters less, well, less intimidating. They were still plenty scary, superhuman strength and hundreds of years for a lifespan, but no longer invincible.

Ghosts were probably the most common creature the hunters I knew had to deal with. After learning from Sam and Dean that all you had to do to, well, kill is probably not the right word for something that’s already dead, but I don’t have a better one, so there you go: All you needed to do to kill a ghost, was to burn what still bound the soul to this world, usually the corpse, sometimes a material possession left behind. The trick was actually finding that something.

Accompanying the Winchesters on their job was never a routine for me, I still had my job as the local sheriff and I actually liked my normal life, but it wasn’t unusual either to go hunting with them.

So yeah, ghosts quickly lost their scare factor. Hearing the word poltergeist probably didn’t have the effect on me it should have, after numerous horror movies featuring that supposedly horrendous creature. But I already knew that pop culture wasn’t exactly accurate when it came to these things.

Sam on the other hand looked surprisingly worried when Dean mentioned his suspicion about the ghost living in the old house.

A little girl had died there, fallen down the stairs. It wasn’t something that would usually catch the attention of hunters. It sounded like a tragic accident, because sadly, children were much more fragile than us, they needed protection and safety while growing up.

But Sam noticed a long series of tragic deaths in that house, some much more violent and gruesome than the last one and Dean began to explain.  
“A Poltergeist isn’t a simple ghost. They are not here because they still feel attached, want to be found or get revenge one a particular person. A Poltergeist is just pure anger, they hate everything and everyone and all they do is kill and maim for fun. There is nothing to burn because there is nothing, they are attached to other than the place they are trapped in.”

I nodded, feeling dumbfounded while palming through old photos of the various victims. Yeah, that was pretty, ah horrifying, there were severed limbs and things I could barely identify as bashed in faces under all the gore.

“So, how do you get rid of them then? Burn the place down?” I asked after placing the pictures out of view, swallowing hard, because that was the feeling of fear creeping back in after I thought I’d lost it.

“No, the house is a cage rather than an attachment, burning it down probably wouldn’t work, worst case even set that fucker free. We’ll need to purify the place and the poltergeist is going to disappear.” Dean answered while Sam got up to gather some stuff.

“Theoretically a purification works on any kind of ghost, the ingredients are always more or less the same, depending on what scripture and culture the knowledge is based on. Then you fill the mixture into small bags, tie them off and place them in the walls of the haunted house. There needs to be a bag in every outer wall, pointing north, south, east and west for every floor to make the ritual work.” Sam explained and returned to the table with a collection of herbs, stones and what looked like small bones.

He already set to work with a grinder until everything turned into a grainy powder and filled eight patches of fabric before tying them to neat little bags. Four outer walls, two floors, eight bags. I felt a shudder going down my spine at the thought of entering that house.

“We don’t use it on any kind of ghost you’ll get rid of with a simple salt and burn, because it’s much more dangerous. Ghosts feel when they’re threatened, so they lash out with all their strength.  
It’s the same with a poltergeist, but there’s really no other way to stop them. I understand if you don’t want to come with us this time, it’s really dangerous. As soon as we enter his realm, he will try anything to kill us.”

The other blonde sounded atypically serious for once. “Can you even do that on your own? Eight walls for only two people while that thing is throwing knives around?” I then asked skeptically.

“Sure, one of us can take a floor. Really, there’s only two opposing corners to go for, the placement doesn’t matter as long as it’s the right wall.” Sam assured. He probably tried for a cheerful tone, but it ended up being a little flat. He was probably skeptical about doing this as well, but I knew he was trying not to pressure me into helping them out when my own life was at risk.

“But it would be easier if another person was with you.” I stated firmly and none of the brothers dared to deny the obvious.  
I was scared after seeing the mutilated bodies that ghost had caused in the past, but wasn’t bravery all about doing things even though you were scared, just because it was the right thing to do?

“I’ll help you, pretty sure I can do one corner on my own.” I then grinned at them and Dean looked more worried than I’d ever seen him. “You don’t have to Donna, it’s really dangerous, I don’t want to see you hurt. I promise, we’ll be fine on our own, we’ve done it before.” He was practically pleading with me to stay behind.

I shook my head firmly and grinned in the face of danger. “Nah, I know you could, but I’d rather be there in case you do something stupid.” Teasing them was easier than to show my fear.

We went to the place on the very same evening while the parents were still out of the house, probably organizing the funeral for their poor daughter.

The plan was clear: Sam and Dean would enter the house first so they could climb the stairs, hoping that the poltergeist would only take notice of them when they were actually aiming for the corners of the rooms. Sam was supposed to take the far corner while his brother took the one closer to the stairs so he could sprint downwards and do a second round downstairs.

I was only allowed to enter when there was noise, meaning the vengeful spirit was already attacking and wouldn’t immediately notice my presence. My job was the very last corner, close to the door and then I should leave right away. I didn’t feel very useful, but the brothers told me plenty of times that I was, the faster this went down the better.

It was dark outside, early December, the fallen leaves still sticking around the porch of the old house. The neighborhood was eerily silent, at first there was no noise at all when the Winchester brothers entered the place. I waited. Not a single light was turned on until suddenly everything was bright. Then there was a loud crash from the second floor.

So the ghost had noticed them and was attacking. I thumbed the two little sachets in my pocket, my fingers trembling when faced with such a powerful spirit. I took a deep breath thinking of bravery and wide childish grins on the brothers faces before sprinting inside.

As soon as I entered all the lights began to flicker before turning off again, leaving the rooms dark and my vision off. Still, I knew where I needed to go, stumbling to the described corner.

There was a loud shout from upstairs, another crash, furniture rattling. That had definitely been Sam’s voice, but there was really nothing I could do other than my job. A job that appeared rather simple, but looked much harder now that I was facing the hardwood wall.

Dean had handed me a hammer before coming here. “Not for the ghost idiot, for the wall, you need to get them in the wall.” He teased back at my confused glance at the thing. Now I was swinging at the panels with all my might until they splintered enough for me to place the first bag.

There was another scream, this time it was definitely Dean and much much closer. I turned as I heard a crash close by. Whatever kind of furniture that had once been was now a smashed mess of wood as it came tumbling down the staircase.

I felt my heartbeat going wild in my chest and I hammered at the second panel on the other side of the corner as hard as I could. The stupid panel wouldn’t budge! This time Dean’s scream was so close that I knew the thing crashing down the steps wasn’t a thing but rather the body of my friend.

Before I could even turn to look if he was doing okay, he groaned loudly and there was the distinct noise of someone getting back up. “I’m good Donna, concentrate on you corner and get out!” He firmly instructed again and I just knew that the next crash wasn’t the poltergeist but Dean breaking part of the wooden paneling so he could place his bags.

There was the sound of glass breaking somewhere in the background and then Sam was running down the stairs in a mad dash. I finally split my own damn panel open and pushed the bag in there before turning around and running for the door only the see Dean get smashed into the wall by a cupboard.

The older Winchester was never shy of using his voice and he wasn’t afraid of getting loud either, but somehow pain always equaled silence with Dean. Hearing the blond shout like that out of hurt was something entirely new for me and definitely not something I ever wanted to hear again.

Soon enough his noise was covered up by what felt like the whole house vibrating out of it’s foundation.

Sam was already at his brother’s side, shoving the piece of furniture away from him and I was clearheaded enough to stumble for the front door again. Before I could reach it everything just stopped, several things falling to the floor without the supernatural power holding them up any longer. It looked like Dean had been able to place the last bag while getting squashed.

I turned back to the Winchesters slowly, unsure if it was truly over, so Sam gave a quick thumbs up and gestured towards the outside again. Nobody wanted to stay in the thrashed house any longer than necessary, me included.

Our group only stopped walking when we reached the impala, parked under a streetlight so we could take inventory of our wounds. Well, at least all of us had managed to walk here on their own legs, that had to be positive, right?

Dean instantly let himself sit heavily on the driver’s seat, the door wide open so he could look at us while Sam leaned on the hood of the car instead. I copied Dean, falling into the backseat. It was too damn cold to be hanging around in the wind.

The younger Winchester was full of scratches and bleeding cuts after facing everything breakable on the second floor it looked. I knew that I was fine and surprisingly the only visible injury on Dean was a bleeding nose. A fucking miracle if you asked me with the way the poltergeist threw him through the house.

“Let’s get back home.” Dean concluded after superficially inspecting the small injuries on display and both Sam and I agreed, totally exhausted after that ordeal.

The drive wasn’t long, so only half an hour later found us all sitting down on the chairs and beds of the motel room, jackets shed so we could lick our wounds properly.

Dean had called dibs on Sam and was meticulously cleaning the abundance of cuts littering his arms and face, putting plasters and bandages where it was needed. I was absently staring at them from my place on the other bed, trying to inspect Dean’s injuries from afar.

After the older Winchester was done Sam insisted on checking his brother over even though he claimed he was fine.

There were no cuts to be found and no broken bones either, not even the ribs, Sam made sure to check them trice because he was sure they weren’t lucky enough to get out of a serious hit like those the poltergeist dealt in his dying breath without an injury at all.

After a whole hour of Sam looking and touching and generally being a mother hen Dean had enough and left for a quick shower. I suggested ordering Pizza and the younger brother didn’t argue.

When Dean came back, he was awfully pale, his freckles a stark contrast on his face. He looked tired and was quick to lie back down next to his brother.

“Hey, you sure you’re feeling alright?” Sam asked again and Dean nodded stiffly. “Yeah, just some back pain. I’m getting too old for this.” He complained breathlessly, so bis brother helped him onto his stomach so he could have a look.

“Nah, I bet it’s pretty normal to be in some pain after all the hits you took.” I said and wandered over so I could have a look as well. There were some bruises, but that was to be expected after the poltergeist ordeal, otherwise everything looked just fine.

“It looks good, but tell us if it’s getting worse, maybe you pinched a nerve or something.” Sam finally settled on and helped his brother to sit back up.

We were chatting a while after that, I don’t really remember what the topic was, but Dean got quieter until he was lying back down, looking like he was about to take a nap when someone knocked on the door, probably the pizza.

Dean sat back up and tried to stand only to hiss an aborted sound of pain that was something between groan and full-on scream before sliding to the floor, barley conscious.

I was by his side instantly and carefully pat his cheek, trying to get him a little more awake while asking what was happening.

“Shit!” Sam was swearing loudly and rushed to the door, handing the currier some money before sending him away again, the pizza forgotten as soon as it was placed out of the way.  
Sam was crouching on the blonde’s other side right after, trying to catch his eye. He used a much sterner voice than usual when talking to him, probably to catch his attention.

“What’s happening?” The younger male demanded and Dean’s eyes were watering when he got them open again to answer. “Felt like something ripped.” He hissed breathlessly and Sam helped him turn so we could take another look at his back.

Oh god, the bruise was about triple the size it had been before! There was really only one logical reason for that. “Okay, that’s definitely internal bleeding, whatever ripped in there needs medical attention right away. Call an ambulance, there’s really no way around this.” I state firmly, more familiar with car wrecks and the like than both Winchesters.

Sam didn’t argue and neither did Dean. Ten minutes later a team was with us and got the older brother on a stretcher. They barley had enough time to tell us which hospital was the closest before they were on their way again.

We drove after them right away but still had to wait several hours until we saw Dean again, this time deeply unconscious.

A tick bandage was covering Dean’s lower ribs, he was hooked up to different IVs, one of them a blood transfusion and he was still as pale as the sheets he was lying on. A female doctor was standing next to his bed, a clipboard in hand and apparently patiently waiting for us.

“Ah, hello, are you Dean Anderson’s family members?” “Yes, I’m his brother.” Sam quickly answered and she gestured for him to sit down. I waited at the door until Sam gave me an irritated look that told me all I needed to know. I settled down at Dean’s bedside knowing that my presence didn’t disturb anyone.

“The patient wasn’t able to tell me what happened before we had to put him under for surgery. Could you help me out with reconstructing the accident that led to this injury?” She continued and Sam nodded. “Yeah, he fell down some stairs, landed himself on a cupboard of all things.” He answered grimly and for once the lie wasn’t too for of realty.

“But you didn’t call the ambulance right away?” She continued her line of questions. “No, he was feeling fine at first. Later he complained about back pain, but we thought that was pretty normal after a fall like that. I think he was feeling faint and when he suddenly tried to get up again, he collapsed, this time in a massive amount of pain. I know my brother, he’s not squeamish with his own pain.” Sam reconstructed the events for the doctor and she nodded along, noting several words down on her clipboard.

“I believe that, because when he was brought in, he was already lacking around two liters of blood and his spleen was severely ruptured. It was probably a two-timed rupture, meaning there was only one directly after the fall, but I guess it ruptured a second time when he tried to get up after lying down again, that’s the reason for the intense pain he felt.”

“So what does that mean? Is he going to be alright?” I piped up, worry lacing my words.

“We had to remove the spleen and the blood that collected in his abdomen. It’s not uncommon after a fall or for example a car crash. It’s not a vital organ, there usually aren’t any complications with men his age, but we’ll keep a close eye on him for a while as infection is a valiant risk after an operation like that.  
He’ll probably wake soon, but he’s on strong pain meds so don’t worry if he’s a little out of character. I’ll have a talk with him as soon as he’s a little more put together about how this will affect his health, if he wishes you can be there too, I think you’re pretty close.”

Sam nodded again, this time looking more tired than anything else and the doctor said her goodbyes. “She said he’ll be fine.” I tried to cheer him up a little and Sam tried to smile, but in the end, it didn’t really reach his eyes.

The younger brother sat down next to me, staring at Dean’s pale skin, listening to the beeping of his heart monitor while he slept. A nurse appeared two times to change both the blood transfusion and the IV bag before the sun started to rise. When Dean woke for the first time, he was barely able to keep his eyes open and only nipped some water after I prompted him to, holding the glass for him.

He fell asleep again and the nurse reappeared a third, fourth and fifth time until she told us we should go home for a while, eat something, bring Dean some clothes. I knew Sam wouldn’t budge from his place, so I ended up driving back to the motel, packing a large bag for the three of us, taking a shower.

I handed Sam his book so he at least had something to take his mind off of things for a while. Dean was still asleep, but there was no new blood bag, that meant he was doing better, right?

I sighed, sitting back down on the empty chair and waited. The other blonde awoke at dusk and actually looked awake, filling the whole room with relief.

“Yaii, hospital! So, what exactly ripped? Kinda the last thing I remember, feeling like something in my back ripped.” Dean groaned softly, his voice still a little hoarse after going under for the operation.

“Your spleen, although it was probably already ruptured after you got thrown into that wall and only ripped for a second time back in the motel. You lost a lot of blood.” Sam explained grumbly about the way his brother seemed to be cool with the situation.

“Blood? I didn’t bleed.” The blond protested at that and I couldn’t help myself but to facepalm. “Internal bleeding you moron. Your spleen was bleeding into your abdomen, that still has the same effect as bleeding your blood out of your body.” I told him, although I was sure he knew that, but the painkillers were a pretty good excuse for being dumb.

“Ah fuck, I’m sorry Sam, I really didn’t realize I was hurt this time. Sorry.” The older Winchester mumbled at that und rubbed his temples with the hand that had no needle sticking in the back of it.

“It’s fine Dean. The doctor said you didn’t feel much pain at first, that’s normal, not your fault we didn’t notice. It’ll take a while to heal, longer stay in the hospital than usual because they took the whole thing out, but you’ll make a full recovery.” Sam explained patiently and his older brother nodded before carefully following the outline of bandages around his middle.

He was awake a little longer, drank some water on his own and had a short conversation with his doctor before falling asleep again.

On the next day they changed the bandages and after Dean gave his permission we were allowed to stay. The wound beneath the sterile bandages was long, following the outline of his lower ribs along his side. The stitches looked neat and there was only a little crusted blood.

Dean wasn’t in too much pain while it got cleaned and rebandaged and the nurse quickly explained that although the cut looked big now it would heal very well, the scar would barely even be visible anymore in a few years, especially compared to the collection of scars already collected on the man’s torso.

Dean told her his thanks and we were left alone again. The blonde looked happy, not a care in the world for his injury and Sam had a fond smile on his lips as well. I couldn’t help myself while grinning with them.

As the older Winchester looked much healthier by now and was awake most of the day Sam actually went back to the motel from time to time, at least for naps and showers.

I felt a little out of place being so close with the brothers around the clock, but neither of them mentioned something like that, so I stayed, watching stupid daytime television with Dean and complaining about the food while Sam read or slept.

His recovery was going well, there were no signs of infection and the threats could be removed a week later and shortly after he was allowed to leave.

His doctor sat the three of us down over the release forms and handed Dean a large box of antibiotics and manuals filled with information about living a healthy life without as spleen and all that.

“The spleen is not a vital organ for an adult, but it is still part of our immune system. There are no direct complications after a full removal like yours, but you are at a higher risk now when it comes to infections. You should always have some antibiotics on yourself and are allowed to take them preventatively should you get injured, even small cuts can be a threat if they get infected. If you get sick you should always seek medical attention and tell them of your circumstances. Other than that, you’ll be as good as new in a few weeks, when the surgical wound and the bruising is fully healed. Good luck Mister Anderson.”

She said after all the papers were filled out to her satisfaction and several pill bottles, creams and bandages had changed hands.

The brothers left the state on the same evening and Dean hugged me for nearly ten minutes straight while apologizing and saying goodbyes.

“Sorry Donna, I’m so sorry I scared you guys like that. Poltergeists are fucking shit to deal with, you heard me?! As always, call us if you find something weird or need anything. I’ll miss you.” He joked before sitting down in the impala and disappearing in the distance with the familiar rumble of his car.

All in all, it wasn’t the worst hunt I had with the Winchesters, but it was definitely memorable and made the poltergeist movies even scarier than they actually were.


	16. 15. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left behind / Kicked while down --- Dean, Sam, Castiel, POV Charlie
> 
> Angels trying to hunt down Castiel use Dean as bait. They're not exactly of the nice variety while they wait.  
> The usual warnings of blood and broken bones and stuff, but it's mild. Hope you liked the stories so far, don't forget to leave kudos or a comment, you'd make my day ;)

I barely even knew what was going on in Castiel’s life most of the time. It was complicated. All I knew for sure was that heaven literally fell and apparently our resident angel was kind of at fault. I was told that Metatron, the scribe of god himself, had tricked our friend, so he was not actually at fault.

It was just that the other angels disliked him since the whole leviathan and purgatory incident. Probably longer than that if I was honest, because the angels we had met were all kind of pricks. They held no love for humans in general, but the Winchesters had been a thorn in their sides for a long time it seemed. Castiel being the one that resurrected Dean from literal hell didn’t help his cause at all.

It was just the metaphorical cherry on top, that Cas and Dean were much more than friends by now. Relationships between angels and humans were frowned upon according to all the stuff on the topic I dug out of the bunker’s library. Well, it wasn’t the actual relationship that seemed to be the problem, but rather the offspring that could come out of it. Not that that was a problem for Dean and Cas, but the resentment for them was still there.

All in all, most angels were just as prejudiced as the humans they loved to ridicule. It was kind of disheartening, but after all we’d seen by now heaven and hell didn’t seem like much of a good example anyways.

In the end their reasoning didn’t matter to me, all I knew was that the other angels were trying to hunt Castiel down, no matter the cost. The lives of two measly little humans weren’t even worth considering their methods to them.

The angels knew that Dean and Castiel were close and they fully intended to use their connection against them. None of us had suspected a move like that. Cas was hiding away in the bunker for the time being, because he was the one, they were after. Sure, we stayed home with him most of the time, trying to figure a way out to get back at Metatron, but other than that our lifestyle didn’t particularly change.

It was normal that Dean went out on his own to do the shopping for all of us. He needed the time in his car, driving and listening to music was his way of unwinding a little after all the stress and research and stuff. I understood that, but sometimes he let me come with him.

It was pure luck that I was with him when a bunch of angels suddenly jumped us.

They didn’t even wait for us to reach the damn supermarket a few towns over, instead appearing in the middle of a dirt road out in the fucking nowhere. Dean nearly crashed his beloved car in a ditch because of the scare and I hit the door hard, momentarily leaving me dizzy.

Before either of us could gather our wits, the people were dragging us out of the car, their pure physical strength and the white blue eyes giving them away as what they really were.

I could see Dean scrambling for his angel blade, but he was quickly overpowered, the blade pushed towards his own throat along the way. I tried to fight, but I probably ended up squirming like a worm rather than looking like the fierce huntress I was. Embarrassing.

“Tell us where the traitor is and we’ll let you go, no harm done Winchester.” A tall pale looking woman hissed. “Castiel’s not a traitor, you’re just fucking dumb…” Dean couldn’t finish the triad he was probably about the spew at them, the hatred in his voice open and acidic, but a smaller male angel sent a kick to the back of the older hunter’s knees and sent him downwards with a grunt.

“Shut up. Where is Castiel?” Another male repeated the question while they wrestled his arms behind his back and cuffed them together. “You already know I’m not going to tell you shit, so why do you even bother?” He cursed at them instead of answering. It earned him a hit over the head, but I knew Dean was tough, he didn’t make a sound.

I stared at the scene helplessly, trying to come up with a plan in the back of my mind. Castiel was cut off from heaven, no angel radio and no prayers could reach him, so that was out of the question…

“Because if you won’t tell us on your own, we’ll squeeze it out of you. And if that won’t work either dear Dean, then I’m sure your boyfriend will come for your remains all on his all on his own.” The woman retorted sounding utterly pleased with herself and her plan.

I swallowed, because she was absolutely right. Dean would never tell them, no matter what they did to him and Cas would feel his love hurting and come to save him, only to end up with both of them idiots dead.

I just knew that they had no intention of letting Dean go, not even after they had gotten what they wanted out of him and killed Castiel. They had no mercy for humans that had been hindering their plans like that, not to mention that Dean had a considerable kill-count concerning angels.

There had to be something I could do… Dean was crouching on the dirt, taunt as a bowstring, surrounded by no less than six angels while I had two of them at my back, holding onto the sleeves of my jacket.

I briefly met the familiar green eyes and followed his line of sight. The car. The doors were still open, the motor rumbling in the background. The keys were still in the ignition, baby was ready to go and I could slip out of my jacket, I only needed some kind of distraction.

Dean seemed to have the same train of thought, because suddenly the other hunter surged back to his feet, his shoulder pushing the blade away from himself and into the throat of an angel. The figure screamed in a frequency barely processable for the human ear, before flickering out of existence, the vessel crumbling to the floor, the other angels trying to get a hold of their captive again in a flurry of motion.

The angels behind me staggered slightly, their grip faltering briefly, wanting nothing more than to sprint over to their brothers and sisters to help them out. It was my chance, so I slipped out of the sleeves of my coat as fast as I could.

Another scream of pain ripped through the air, another body falling, another angel gone, but Dean was also screaming. They were hitting him, holding him down und pushing until he was lying face down on the dusty road, an angel standing firmly on every limb so he couldn’t move.

They were still kicking him, more sounds of pain, hitting and tearing and pushing and pulling, Dean didn’t even have the chance to flee like that and it was my turn to stagger. I couldn’t leave him like that… They were hurting him, they wouldn’t stop until he was dead or told them about the bunker, which would never happen, so death was all that awaited Dean if he was left to these angels.

But Dean was screaming, not just in pain, but also words that finally got me to move again. “Run Charlie! Get back, get Sam and Cas! Run, leave me behind and fucking go already!”

So I turned my back on him and ran, it was our only chance, wasn’t it? I jumped into the car, barely enough time to close my own door, the other side falling shut loudly with the rapid turn backwards I took and sped all the way down the dirt road at highspeed.

They let me go and that could really only mean one thing. They were planning to kill Dean before Castiel could reach them, satisfied with the prospect that their fallen brother would appear soon enough, likely served on a silver platter.

As soon as I reached the next paved road only a few minutes later I pulled to a rapid stop, scrambling for my phone and dialing Sam’s number. “You need to get Cas and come here right now, they’ll kill Dean!” I hissed as soon as the call was answered and Sam was silent for a second, likely trying to process the meaning of my words.

Then there was a clatter and he was running to the next room, where Cas was probably sitting in front of his new laptop, watching Netflix or something. “Road?” He asked while calling out for Castiel and I dutifully told them the exact place I would be waiting for them.

A second later both men were sitting in the backseat of the impala and I jumped even though I had been the one to call them over.  
“Angels, six of them I think, five miles down that dirt road.” I pointed them in the right direction and suddenly felt like the world was folding in on itself until I realized we were right back where I’d come from mere minutes ago. Now the dirt was painted red.

Dean was still lying right there, although there was no need to hold him down anymore, his legs bent out of shape in horrible breaks. There was also something distinctly white and excessively bloody sticking out of his forearm.

I couldn’t help the gagging, because he was lying still, that never meant anything good. Dean just wasn’t a guy that rolled over and took a beating like this if he could help it.

There was more blood coming out of his mouth and nose even while we were standing there, his breathing no more than a rattling that barely even moved his ribcage any longer. The thick liquid was smeared all over his front, but there were no visible wounds, the blade that had been used to kill two of their comrades out of sight for now.

I shuddered, because I could picture the scene well enough after I had seen them kick the downed hunter mercilessly before I ran and left him behind.

Sam handed me an equally shiny blade, fit to kill the winged bastards in front of me, but I didn’t feel like I was able to move. All I could do was stare at the glazed over eyes of my best friend. Was he even alive anymore? Because those sounds could sparsely be counted as breathing at all, now that I had the time to think about it.

For a second it was the only sound filling the empty space and then there was loud screaming, Sam pulling a single angel with him while the other five attacked Castiel. Usually the odds would have been against the angel of Thursday, but it was a big mistake to hurt the person he loved so much. The man I knew Castiel to be was calm and loving, a little dorky and awkward even. Now he was borderline feral, going absolutely berserk, cutting feathers and skin and clothes, biting down when he got the chance to.

The fight was bright and loud and in the end, Castiel was covered in blood from head to toe, his trademark trench coat shredded to pieces, hanging onto his shoulders with it’s last threads. There were ugly cuts all over him, four of his brothers and sisters lying dead at his feet. Honestly, Sam only looked a little better, already crouching by his brother, covering him protectively.

The sun was shining down on us unwavering, painting weird shadows around the fallen angels. After a while I was able to recognize the pattern of rustled feathers the light was trying to paint.

Castiel let the last angle blade drop with a deafening clatter in the once again silent scene before making his way over to the brothers. I finally got my bearings enough to scramble right along with him, both of us falling to our knees at Dean’s side.

Sam had already picked the locks on the cuffs and pulled them off, but hadn’t dared to move the blonde’s arms for obvious reasons. That bone was sticking out way farther than it had any right to in my opinion, his legs painting an equally mangled picture, a weird s-shape that looked absolutely impossible. Pain only the raw physical strength of an angel could cause like this.

I swallowed hard, but Castiel seemed calm now that he was at his beloved’s side once again, cradling his face with all the care in the world. In the blink of an eye Dean was healed, all bones getting back to their designated place without complaint.

The older hunter exhaled in a way that could not be anything other than the textbook definition of relief, his breath flowing easy now after his ribcage had been shattered and his organs squashed by the kicks of beings so much stronger than him. Even now, with his head securely in his angel’s lap he was still protectively curled around his middle.

“I am so sorry Dean.” Was all his boyfriend said, bringing his own head down a little for a brief kiss. “Not your fault your family’s a bunch of assholes.” The other muttered back at him and Sam chuckled a little.

I couldn’t help myself. I hated crying in front of people, it was such a stupid girly thing to do, but I felt like I wasn’t even worth the blood stained dirt we were sitting on at the moment, sobbing and grasping at Dean’s ruined shirt, full out ugly crying in front of two seasoned hunters and an angel of all things.

“Shit, I’m so sorry for leaving you behind Dean! I should’ve been able to help you, instead I ran like the weak bitch I am , shit Dean…” I cried out and flinched madly when the injured man sat up rapidly. Well, technically he was healed, but that was just so hard to imagine after seeing him beaten within an inch of his life only seconds earlier.

I was enveloped by a big set of arms and felt the vibration of a laugh going through Dean’s ribs. “Oh Red. I told you to run. I knew it was going to be fine, that you’d call them and that they could manage the bunch of stray angels. Thought they were big shots, but never dealt with an angel like Cas, who fought for his survival like constantly since getting introduced to me. Lucky Winchesters, right?” He joked, deeply relaxed.

“Not gonna lie, hurt like hell. Only real assholes kick someone already down, probably knew that I could’ve had them in a fair fight. I’m glad you came when you did, so, thanks for the save Charlie.” He continued softly and I nodded, feeling the tears subside.

“We’re okay?” I asked tentatively and could feel Dean’s grin close to my own cheek because of the hug. “Of course.”

We sat in silence for a while, Castiel mending his coat with a flick of his fingers, most of the cuts adorning his flesh disappearing just the same. Some of them remained though, he looked worn out.

“Are you strong enough to get all of us back to the bunker?” Sam piped up when he deemed all of us ready to go home and Cas just nodded. There it was again, the faint shadow of wings, lacking feathers here and there, but still impressive enough to teleport all of us in the blink of an eye it seemed.

Ahh, this kind of travel always made me kind of nauseas, but I managed, letting myself fall back into the nearest chair.

Dean and Castiel were still crouching on the floor, but the angel was quick in picking his charge up, arms going around his upper thighs, so the hunter ended up slinging his legs around the narrow hips of the man, while his arms went around his neck. It looked like a well practiced position, even though it looked a little weird with Dean bigger and heavier than Cas, but well, perks of having the strength of an angel, I guess?

Honestly, the position would’ve been kind of hot if it weren’t for the fact that men were absolutely not my cup of tea, but Sam certainly flushed dark red while seeing his brother and best friend in such a compromising position.

Dean was healed, he could’ve walked on his own just fine, but he didn’t complain about his boyfriend carrying him to the nearest bathroom so they could get rid of all the blood still sticking to their skin.

When they left, he gave me a quick wink, which I of course returned and he them proceded to flipping Sam off while looking over Cas’ shoulder, the younger brother face palming audibly before he sat down next to me.

“Weird day, right? Wanna order pizza?” Was all I said to him and he looked grateful while picking up his phone.


	17. 16. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rendered mute / Manhandling --- Dean, John, POV Sam
> 
> One of the heavier entries I think. The main focus lies on the bad experiences Sam and Dean shared in their childhood or rather Sam having an introspective about the way his older brother tried to deal with it and protect him from the bad things as best as he could.  
> In my opinion Dean definitely has some kind of PTSD to deal with, probably since his very early childhood. Untreated childhood PTSD has a lot of other issues attached to it, on top of that John is not exactly a good father, sometimes downright abusive. Not to mention that the man himself probably has a plethora of issues, on top of them his very own case of PTSD.  
> There also are some rather graphic depictions of a rape aftermath. It's just a hard story in general, sorry ^^'

November second was always hard for my brother. One of my earliest memories stemmed from the day. I was probably still a baby, much too young to even correctly remember by any means, but it was a reoccurring event, so I had enough time to reinforce my memories over the following years.

As a child Dean cried unlike any other kid I ever met, absolutely soundless.  
Years later I learned that November second was the day our mother died. Nobody talked about her or the circumstances of her death to me, neither did we visit a grave of some sort to commemorate her.

All I knew about the day was that dad would sit in the dark living room all day, the TV running without tone and drink himself into a stupor until he finally fell asleep still sitting right there.

Meanwhile Dean would sit with me on our shared bed in whatever shabby motel we were currently staying at and did not move from his spot either. He used to cry all day, thick fat tears rolling down his freckled cheeks, his breath hitching and his lips moving softly, as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately no sound left his mouth. None at all.

It was a common occurrence for Dean to stay silent for long stretches of time. When I was young, I thought it was normal, so without any other children my age around me and neither dad nor my brother talking much it took me a whole while to learn to speak normally.

From time to time dad would get real angry with Dean for not speaking. He ended up shaking his oldest by the shoulders, desperately pleading or screaming at the kid to just say something, anything, please Dean. And Dean’s lips would once again move softly, but didn’t form any words in the end.

When I was older, I began to wonder why my brother often lost his voice like this too. I knew he could talk normally, so why didn’t he? When I asked him, he gave a smile that was so far from joy that I never wanted to see it again, so I stopped asking, instead I learned to work around his muteness to interact with my older brother.

Both John and I had to deal with Dean’s silence. On some occasions we did better than on others though…

When I was four, dad started to leave us alone more and more often. When he was away Dean never struggled with talking. It wasn’t something I could tell anyone about, because I instinctively knew John would get angry if he knew about it.

The older I got, the longer we were alone and for a while it looked like the muteness was in Dean’s past. And then there was the shtriga incident.

It was the first time I saw a monster, and I nearly died, it was the scariest thing that had ever happened to me at that point, but I never would’ve said Dean was responsible for that. Sure, he left me alone, but he needed some alone time too. Dad had left Dean alone all the time when he was six, so why shouldn’t I be left alone??

I didn’t see it back then, but it was probably the first time John actually beat his son. There had been shoves and a few hits in the past. I knew that they were training together, Dean always had bruises on him somewhere. He was a boy, that was normal, right? Boys get wild and fight and get bruised all the time…

But after the shtriga Dean was once again unable to speak, dutifully sitting at my bedside all the time, never letting me out of his sight for longer than a few minutes at a time. Dad left with his usual farewell of “Protect Sammy” a few days later. Dean didn’t speak for the whole week John was away.

I learned the truth about monsters and hunting after that. It was much later that I learned that our mother didn’t die in a car crash, but by the hand of a demon.

Dad was still upholding his tradition on November second even a decade after it started, but Dean stopped crying by the time he was twelve. In the last few years his tears had ended in screaming from dad, that he was too old to be such a crybaby, that he was supposed to man up and fucking talk already. It was probably the longest screaming match I had ever heard, only that one party was absolutely silent instead of arguing back.

So Dean stopped crying. Instead he told me to be quiet in the morning when we got up, falling into silence while he did housework, as soundless as his tears used to be, invisible to our grieving father.

I accepted this for two more years, but it was getting on my nerves, so one day I angrily asked my brother the forbidden question: “Why does nobody ever talk about mom?! Why did you lie to me about her death?! How did she die, that you felt the need to not tell me, what’s so special about the way a goddamned demon kills someone?!”

Dean looked lost for a second, still standing in the kitchen, the overboiling noodles forgotten. His eyes flickered to the ceiling of the room and back the me, his lips moving in the telltale way of losing his voice. I felt red hot anger in my veins at that, because how convenient is that?! Going mute because you don’t want to talk about something uncomfortable, I wouldn’t let him get away with that any longer!

I stepped close and grabbed the front of the taller boy’s shirt, so I could scream in his face. “No, you don’t get to do that any longer, none of that muteness bullshit Dean! I’m sick of it! I want to know what happened to my mom!”

Before I even knew what happened I felt the sting of a palm covering my cheek and tumbled to the kitchen floor more out of shock than anything else. I covered my bright red cheek with my own palm, all anger forgotten.

Dean never hit me. Sure, we did some roughhousing, but that was fun and play, a thing siblings just do while growing up, but this? Dean would never hit me, never..

My brother was already kneeling by my side, carefully inspecting the damage, tears wetting his cheeks and I stared at him dumbfoundedly, while he tried to force himself to speak.

“Sorry…” Was the first thing he croaked out, his voice shaking horribly. I shook my head, I had already forgiven him. I was an asshole about it. I knew exactly that this wasn’t fun or convenient for my brother, he just genuinely lost his ability to speak. He was forcefully rendered mute by whatever was going on in his head, and I made fun of him for it. I felt tears drop down my own cheeks and clung to his neck until I managed to calm myself enough to let go again.

“Mom… The demon pinned her to the c..ceiling. She was screaming, blood… The house burned, your room.. Dad… Dad, he handed me… and I left. You…” Dean was stammering, his words disjointed and rough, barely making sense at all, his limbs were shaking and the boy was clutching his abdomen as if he was in actual physical pain while speaking about the event. In the end my older brother’s jaw clicked loudly and locked up, the muscles standing out on his pale, sweaty face.

He leaned forwards until he could bury his face in his knees. I was unsure what to do, so I quickly got up and got those sizzling noodles off the stove first things first. It didn’t look like the sound of something burning was currently helping my brother to stay calm… Not after what he tried to tell me. I hadn’t known that Dean saw…

After that I sprinted back to the older boy’s side and plastered myself to his curved back. “I’m so sorry Dean, I’m sorry that I made you talk and that I made fun of you and for asking about mom. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” I repeated myself for the better part of half an hour until Dean was able to uncurl himself from his position. He was smiling at me, although he still looked on the verge of a breakdown of some kind, and opened his arms for a real hug. I quickly scooted over and let him hold me.

Dad was pissed when he came home a few days later and his oldest was once again rendered mute.

I was getting introduced to the concept of hunting. Dad trained the both of us together now, and I fucking hated it. I hated that Dean was so good with a gun in his hands and that dad would praise him for every shot fired and for every hit he dodged, and for every stupid survival training he let his oldest go through all alone. Ha was barely even a teen! Teenagers aren’t supposed to drive cars and shoot guns and gut animals and other… things…

I always felt jittery with a weapon in my hands and Dean would smile reassuringly. It was far from calming, not that he would understand. Dean trusted every word John uttered blindly. John was my brother’s hero, even though he would hit and kick at him when they were sparring, not holding back a bit, even though the blond was half his weight, manhandling his child with ease.

The ache in my limbs was beginning to be a constant whenever our father was around and I asked myself how Dean could still smile at this man, that raised us harder than any drill Sargent. How he would preen when the man gave a single word of praise only to put him down again and again. I was glad that John would disappear on hunts for weeks and then whole months, and leave us alone.

Until I began to notice that he would disappear without leaving money. I knew that we were poor. I complained about all the gross stuff I had to eat, cheap cans and boxed meals and the clothes from good will and stupid thrift shops, but it was so much better still than seeing Dean go hungry.

When I started to refuse to eat when my brother didn’t, Dean started to do something that I hadn’t expected of him.  
You need to know, my brother has a strong moral compass. He’s the law and order type, after all it was his idol, his father, that taught him that he needed to sacrifice his own life to save others. But when the money started to get tight Dean started to steal. Money, food, really, whatever he got his hands on.

I worried that they would catch my brother and wondered what the consequences where going to look like…

It was starting to feel like everything was too much for me, so when I was twelve, I ran away. It was easy, I had some money, so I bought myself a ticket, packed a bag, and sat down in a bus, driving across the state’s border. I found myself a cabin, it was nice, had some food, even a dog. Flagstaff was cool, until it suddenly wasn’t anymore.

I knew what the impala sounded like. The vintage car had a distinct sound, I would recognize it in a thousand cars, so naturally I knew when dad pulled up in front of the cabin.

There was no way around it, so I repacked my bag and stepped out of the cabin, sitting in the backseat without another word. Dean was sitting shotgun, so I couldn’t meet his eyes. I wanted to apologize for what I had done to him, but for once I was the one that felt unable to find his voice.  
My brother never sat shotgun. Nobody said a thing on our drive. We weren’t going back, but apparently moving on.

I caught the blonde’s reflection in one of the mirrors. He was black and blue. Sadly, I wasn’t surprised at all. I vanished on Dean’s watch, something dad didn’t take kindly.

We drove for two more days before renting us another dirty motel room in a new state, that in the end, was like all others before this one. Few words were spoken. Dean said none at all and when I could finally get a good look at him, his eyes were hollow. As soon as we were on our own, I desperately tried to talk to him.

Surprisingly Dean acted normal, he didn’t hold it against me that I ran away or that he got beaten because of me. He smiled and helped me enroll in the new school, wandered the town by my side. But he couldn’t speak. It was scary. He had never been silent for this long, at least not since I could remember.

He only spoke up again when Dad returned from his next hunt. I felt bitter, because our family dynamic was quickly deteriorating after that.

John was gone more often than not. I knew that Dean tried to make it work, but the money was never enough, no matter how far he stretched it out, so he went out to hustle pool or steal. He was thinking about dropping out of school so he could work a job next to hunting and I felt despair clawing at my chest.

If Dean didn’t even get the chance to finish his education, there was really nothing else he could do… But I didn’t want that life for him. Dad was always angry and mean and drunk. Hunting was dangerous and depressing. They always ended up hurt when they left together, I didn’t want that for my brother. I had seen him sipping at a bottle of beer more than a few times by now, always when he thought I wasn’t watching, and it scared me.

And then there was dad. He was getting more… violent. He was always drunk when he was home, wherever home currently was, and he was so strict with my brother. Me? He let me get away with a lot of shit. I argued with him constantly, fighting and screaming. It was a few and far between when his hand slipped with me, but Dean?

Dean couldn’t stand it when we argued, he always ended up standing between us and as soon as that was the case, John lashed out at him.

I begged Dean to run away with me. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t leave him again, I knew what was going to happen if I left my brother alone with dad… So I asked him every single day why he wanted to stay.

“Dad needs us.” He told me. I tried to protest. Needing a punching bag, or someone to care for his wounds and backup for his hunting, that weren’t actual reasons to keep someone around. That was wrong and egoistic and plain out abusive in so many ways!

“You don’t even know how much he needs us.” Dean would answer wisely. When I was an adult, I realized that he was right. John really needed us, because he was constantly on the brink of losing his sanity, after the death of his wife and fighting the supernatural every day. The man was ungodly scared that he was going to lose us like he lost his beloved Mary, that’s why he trained us so hard. So we could survive.

It didn’t change the fact that his parenting made us constantly feel like we already were in pure survival mode. It didn’t change the fact that he hurt us in horrible ways, that went much deeper than the physical beatings.

The worst thing John ever did was probably the time when Dean actually got caught stealing, shortly before his seventeenth birthday.

It was just peanut butter and bread. Weren’t cops supposed to notice when something was wrong? They were the good guys, right? But nobody thought about it twice when they arrested the blonde because we were fucking starving and just needed some goddamned bread.

Dad got called. It was the first time I actively witnessed him full on beating my brother. I tried to hold him back, I really did, but he was so much bigger than us. Dean didn’t fight back. He let himself be shoved around and screamed at and only protected his face when our father kicked him through the coffee table. He never fought back.

But that wasn’t the worst part of it. My brother disappeared for the next three months. I was scared, because dad refused to tell me where he was. Did he end up in juvie because of the stealing? Had he been left in some forest again, all on his own for survival training, how dad liked to call the abandonment… Was he doing okay?

I was on edge when we left the town behind without retrieving Dean from wherever he was first. And then, after a two hour drive we pulled up in front of a.. a farm? No, it was a boy’s home… Dad had left Dean in a fucking boy’s home all on his own because of fucking bread. I felt like crying.

I really did start to cry when John got out of the car only to be greeted by an enthusiastic Dean, hugging his father like his life depended on it after he had chucked him away like a used towel and beaten the shit out of him because of fucking… bread.

That’s when I realized that Dean would never run away, no matter what dad would do to him. The only chance I saw was to leave and hopefully Dean would come around and follow me in his own time… I made plans after that, looked at colleges and universities I would like to visit.

Dad was furious about it, the source of a lot of our fights, but Dean was supportive, he always was, ignoring his own lack of understanding for me wanting to study of all things.

For a while it felt like a new routine of sorts. And then Dean vanished from right under our noses at a fucking truck stop of all places.

We thought Dean could handle himself in a fight and he could, no doubt about that. He was always aware of the possibility of getting attacked by a monster. My brother was a paranoid bastard for a reason, he always had a gun and several hidden knives on him.  
But he had been oblivious to the trucker, that had been staring at him ever since we entered the small diner.

We found him on the next morning, at the crack of dawn in a ditch next to a highway. His leg and elbow were broken, as was his nose. There was blood everywhere, scratches, bruises and deep bitemarks covering his arms, neck and torso. He was freezing after spending an unknown amount of hours lying there, left to die. My brother’s shirt was gone, his jacket thrown into the mud next to him carelessly, the material of his jeans was torn, so it was no wonder that he was shivering and on the brink of death.

It was the most horrible thing I had seen to this day, the broken body was barely identifiable as my brother at all. It only got worse after we scrambled down the small hill in a mad dash, struggling not to slip and fall into the mud ourselves.

There was a thick, bloody gash on the back of his head. Probably where the trucker sneaked up on him to drag the unconscious boy back into his truck.

When dad gathered Dean into his arms, he nearly dropped him, a shocked gasp leaving his lips. The dark fabric of his jeans was soaked with blood leaving smears on John’s hand.

Dean was panting, his eyes empty, he was too weak to even produce a sound of pain, even though had to hurt like hell when his injuries got jostled like that.

We scrambled back up the hill as fast as we could, speeding towards the next hospital right away. For the first month right after Dean was completely rendered mute. He looked scared whenever dad left him on his own and he needed to recover from his injuries… From the rape…

Of course you get taught about rape in school, but… but nobody told you about the damage it actually did. About the way Dean bled and how much pain he was in. About how humiliated and useless Dean felt. About how empty my brother was while he was healing. That the damage wasn’t only a physical thing.

Dean couldn’t cry for the next six months. We settled down for his recovery, although dad wouldn’t always stay. Dean couldn’t be scared forever after all… But he didn’t lose a single tear in that whole time. He was numb to everything, as if his brain was refusing to process the horrible thing that had happened to him.

And then the face of his rapist made the news. The man had killed three boys around his age before getting his hands on Dean. That night my brother cried and cried until he passed out from exhaustion. John wasn’t home.

After that things suddenly switched back to normal. Dean quit school and started to work as a mechanic next to his fulltime job of hunting with our father. I fucking hated it, because he was always in so much danger. Dad had a habit of belittling his oldest son, but it looked like I was the only one that noticed.

The whole situation was driving me crazy. I felt like I was getting sucked into this lifestyle more and more without even wanting to. I had to leave.

When I was sixteen, I told my brother of my plans. I expected him to lose his shit. He was becoming more like dad every day. The drinking was normal by now and on the surface, he looked like he enjoyed hunting. Even the impala was his now.

But Dean was overjoyed when I told him about Stanford, he helped me with my applications, drove me to my exams, even enrolled me for my scholarship. He didn’t tell dad.

And then when I was eighteen, he helped me pack my bag and drove me to the bus station. His voice was weirdly chocked up when he said goodbye, but he looked happy. The last thing he said was “I’m proud of you.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the whole going to university and studying law thing or if he meant getting away from hunting , getting away from dad…

When I called after getting settled down in Palo Alto Dean didn’t pick up. I was worried, because I knew dad would undoubtedly lose his shit when he found out. My brother wasn’t a kid anymore, he had all the bulk and knowledge he needed to keep up with dad in fight, I also knew that Dean would never hit his family. 

We tried to keep contact after that, but Dean’s voice was always chocked up and stammering over the phone, the telltale sign that he felt unable to speak and I felt guilty, because he hadn’t gone fully mute for years now. Leaving him definitely didn’t exactly help his psych, I knew how tightly Dean knit himself to his definition of family.

So after a few months the contact just… got lost. It was easier for a while to stop thinking about my family completely, to stop thinking about Dean and Dad and monsters and hunting.

And then I had that stupid mandatory psych class, where the teacher spoke about signs of abuse and neglect and all the ways a family could be dysfunctional and the issues it left people with, often ending up repeating the cycle of violence towards their own kids or spouses.

She spoke about PTSD in soldiers, especially Vietnam, of alcohol and drugs that shaped a whole generation. She also spoke about PTSD in survivors, of rape and sexual harassment, of the effects bullying in schools had and of the correlation of crime and poverty and it was all too much. It just… it hit too close to home.

For a while I thought about quitting. Could I really handle cases of abuse or even just people with an abusive past without dragging every bad memory I had of my own childhood back up? Without think about Dean, who was still out there, hunting with dad, probably drinking himself into a stupor because he had never learned a healthy way to deal with his trauma?

And then I met Jess… She made me forget about all my worries. It was the happiest year in my whole life. I let my guard down around her and it was the biggest mistake I ever made. There was no running away from hunting. There was no running away from trauma.

I saw her burn, pinned to the ceiling, screaming and slit open, her blood dripping on my face and it burned. I remembered Dean, unable to produce a sound, screaming so nobody would hear him, the pained way his fifteen-year-old-self clutched his abdomen while stammering about the death of our mother. I remembered the crazed look in our father’s eyes, the determination to hunt every single thing out there until he found that demon. The drinking, the slip of his sanity, the violence and the rage.

Jess was dead and as always Dean was there to pick up the pieces. In the end the Impala would always be the only home we knew and I was grateful that we at least had that…


	18. 17. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human Shield / Temporary blindness --- Dean, Sam, POV Bobby
> 
> Acid to the face is not a funny thing

The hunter community was never a fan of the name Winchester. Well, at least not since John Winchester fucked half of them over at least once in his revenge driven career. They didn’t change their minds even a bit after the boy’s old man was gone and they took over the family business.

It didn’t help at all that it was common knowledge among hunters, that Sam and Dean broke the 66 seals to reign apocalypse on earth. Of course, they didn’t break all 66 of them, but they were respectively the first and the last one.

Thankfully not many people knew about Dean’s time in hell and his breaking of the first seal as the so called righteous man, it was bad enough already when they only knew about Sam and the last seal of killing Lilith.  
Most hunters were revenge driven like John, they just wouldn’t admit it, because most of them were also assholes. It was so much easier to push the responsibility and the hate towards two strangers than really deal with their issues.

The hunters also knew I wasn’t a very sociable guy, I only made contact over calls with most of them, never actually meeting up. I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot at someone entering my property unasked and all our fellow hunters knew it. That made it easier to hide the boys at my place for the time being, so no revenge driven assholes would show up and try to kill them or something along those lines.

We needed to figure out a plan to stop the angels and demons from destroying the fucking world, first and foremost, so that was a good enough excuse to hunker down in my house for a long long time, reading all the books we could get our hands on. Hiding was a nice side effect of that. And I should’ve known that it wouldn’t work forever.

Every now and then we needed a break. Obviously it was pretty frustrating work we had to deal with. Finding a solution for stopping the archangel Michael and his horde of crazy killing machine angels as well as his fallen brother Lucifer and his rotten cohort wasn’t exactly easy. If there were a book called “How to stop the apocalypse” I bet it would’ve never come so far as breaking all the seals in the first place.

So yeah, after a week of not leaving the house and eating shitty take-out food, not that delivery was a bad thing, but you know, it just get’s a little old after a week of eating the same meals day in day out, we finally decided to go to a real restaurant for once.

Sam was especially excited about ordering a salad of all things, weird kid with his healthy food choices struggled hard with eating greasy boxed stuff for a week, as well as sitting still all day.

Well, the last point was even worse with Dean, he was always restless whenever we had to do research, unable to concentrate and sit still at the same time, so at one point he started to walk in circles with a book in hand, running my carpet down with his pacing. It was annoying as hell, but it wasn’t really the right time to fight with each other.

So yeah, we all really needed a break, going out for food sounded like a great idea at the time. Neither of us suspected that this was the exact opportunity the hunters hiding out behind my salvage yard had been waiting on ever since getting a whiff of it that the Winchesters were currently at my place.

All hunters knew I was a paranoid bastard. Entering my property could be a death sentence for all they knew, so the four of them waited for us to come out on our own.

They had probably been hoping on getting the younger brother by himself, but I could also tell that they were confident enough to get what they wanted when faced with three people instead of one.

They jumped us as soon as we passed by the field that stretched along the road leading towards my yard.

I felt the skin on the back of my neck prickling uncomfortably, the feeling was disturbingly familiar, like someone was staring at me, but before I could turn around, I felt two bodies slamming into my back, effectively pushing me to the ground, the solid weight of two men settling on my back and pinning me down.

I grunted in pain and confusion, pebbles digging into my cheek when I turned my head, so I could take a look at the scene playing out in front of me.

I didn’t know the two men sitting on me, at least not from their looks, but the voice that spoke up was familiar, the barrel of a shotgun pressing into my side. “Don’t move Bobby. We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if we have to.” Laurence warned me, his Spanish accent thick.

Meanwhile two other unknown men were pointing their weapons at Sam and Dean, who calmly held their open palms up in surrender.

“We’re here for him. If he’ll come with us peacefully you can keep the blonde.” The longhaired one gestured towards the younger brother with his pistol and Dean instantly snarled back, full on protective older brother mode, just like John always taught him. “Forget it!”

Sam looked reluctant, but ultimately didn’t argue with his brother’s logic of always provoking some kind of fight. It always played out for them in the end. “He’s the reason for the end of the fucking world! If anyone deserves to die first and go to hell as long as the place even exists anymore, it’s him! We’ll make him regret breaking the damn seal Singer!” The unknown hunter hissed back, but Dean never knew when to back down.

Before his brother could say anything stupid, Sam tried to smooth the tense situation over again. “ Yeah, I know I deserve that, but we are currently looking for a way out. We’ll stop the apocalypse, we’re good at cleaning up our messes, I promise. If you still want to kill me after we do that, I’ll let you.”

“Ha, of course, you’ll stop the fucking apocalypse! You’re a funny one, but sadly that’s kind of not my brand of humor, you know what I mean?” The other guy interjected, his laugh borderline crazy and bitter. I flinched when Dean took a step forward, instantly having three guns pointed at him while one was still pressed to my flank.

“Dean!” I hollered, getting the blonde to back down again until the situation relaxed itself a little.

“Come.” One of the men said towards the younger brother, but Sam looked hesitant, glancing over at me and then at Dean, before shaking his head determinedly. “No.”

“The fuck, who do you think you are, huh?! Brining us all the end of the world, killing millions of people, ruining lives and then, on top of everything you have the arrogance to think you will be able to save humanity? Is this a joke or what? I’ll make you regret getting fucking born!” The longhaired one screamed again, pulling out a flask, hurling the content towards the younger brother with a quick swing of his arm.

Dean probably acted on instinct alone, or maybe it was ingrained into his very being that protecting his brother had priority over attacking their enemies or protecting himself and he really had no other choice, but he shoved himself in front of Sam, pulling his right arm up protectively.

He acted as a human shield, the taller form of the youngest Winchester stumbling back a few steps as he was shoved. As soon as the liquid made contact with Dean’s skin, he screamed in a way I had never heard before. It only took his usually steadfast form seconds to crumble to the ground, curling up around his arm, the other hand shielding his face.

He wouldn’t stop screaming. Other than that, everything was silent. No shots were fired, nobody moved, all we could do was collectively stare at the horrifying scene in front of our eyes.

Then suddenly Sam moved into action, falling to his knees in front of his brother, desperate to get a look at whatever was causing his brother so much pain, trying to talk to him and the other sets of eyes turned towards the attacker, who looked utterly fascinated by what he had done.

Suddenly to other attacker surged into action, grabbed the collar of his teammate and screamed at him. “What the fuck did you do?! What was that? You… you threw fucking acid at his face, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” And the other man only grinned, while his victim, although not the brother he had been going for, was still screaming.

The gun, buried in my side finally vanished. The fourth man, who hadn’t even said anything up until now, ran while Laurence started to stammer. “Shit, shit Bobby, I swear to god, that wasn’t part of the plan. I…I didn’t know he had that stuff. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

I shoved him off my back and pulled him up by his arms, taking his gun and shot the still laughing bastard. I looked the man, that had been shaking the dead body only second before dead in the eye while handing the gun back to it’s owner.

“Take that piece of shit out of my town, and never come back here! I’ll shoot you, I’ll shoot fucking all of you, fucking scum, get the fuck away from my boys!!” I screamed and within seconds they bolted, thankfully dragging the body with them. The last thing I needed was another body to bury in my backyard right now.

As soon as that was dealt with, I sprinted to the boys side. Dean had stopped screaming at one point, I didn’t remember when, but only because he was currently whimpering like a dying dog.

I pulled him into my arms, trying not to touch the burned open parts of his arm and dear god, his fucking face, while I ran back over the street, towards the fountain near the house. Sam quickly caught onto my plan, passing his state of shock and took his brother from me. He was much taller, younger and just generally fitter, so it barely took him half a minute to get his brother towards the running water, where we could clean the acid out of those horrifying wounds.

I reached them again a little later, panting, staring at them in shock, grasping my knees so I wouldn’t keel over. Ah shit, I was getting too old for this.

As quickly as I was able to breathe again, I took over the job of rinsing out the burns, so Sam could get the first aid kit from inside.

He looked lost by the time he returned, much younger than his twenty-six years. Dean looked a little better by now, well at least he wasn’t moaning in pain anymore, his muscles lax with exhaustion. He was shaking weakly, his breathing raspy while I was carefully holding his head under the running water, my hand shielding his mouth so he could get enough air while I was rinsing his eyes and nose.

His arm was completely held into the cold water. The burns there looked… Not good was kind of an understatement. At least his face didn’t look as bad anymore, most of the acid had been blocked by his arm thanks to the boy’s quick reflexes. There was a splatter of open skin across his nose, droplets searing his brow and the cheek right beneath his eye. It didn’t look like there was much damage to the eye itself, thank god for that…

The shivering was getting worse, he was probably freezing by now, shock and the cold water working hand in hand against him. Sadly, I couldn’t release him yet, we should probably wash the wounds for as long as he was able to handle the cold, I dimly remembered at least thirty minutes for normal burns. Was it longer for acid burns? It wasn’t a thing I had read up on, wasn’t a common threat after all. Only a real psycho would throw acid at another human being!

“What… what do we do uncle Bobby? Should we… Shouldn’t we get him to the hospital?” Sam asked worriedly, going through the contents of the kid by my side, looking for something useful.

“I don’t know. I don’t think they can do more than we do for now. Rinse the acid, treat the burns and let them heal. And they’ll ask a lot of questions with injuries like this.” I answered honestly.

Dean twitched a little in my hold before shakily speaking up for himself. “No.. No hospital. It’s fine, we can deal with this on our own. Last thing we need is a murder investigation when they take a look at the crime scene and see all the blood there that’s not mine.”

“But Dean, there burns on your face, your eyes… you could lose one of your eyes.” Sam stammered, clutching his brother’s shoulder. “Believe me, I can feel that.” Dean groaned back, ignoring the concern displayed for his wellbeing. “It will heal and even if it won’t, I still got one good, that’s enough for me.” The older brother concluded, declaring the end of the discussion in an authoritarian voice, I would have thought him incapable of under these circumstances.

I sighed softly, but accepted the young hunter’s decision. Half an hour later he was deathly pale, his shaking only got worse with time, the boy was undoubtedly freezing to the touch, so I finally helped him out of the water.

The burns were already looking much better now that they weren’t spreading and bleeding anymore. I carefully tried to open the injured eye, but it looked like it was causing Dean a lot of pain and he flinched hard as soon as I came near the burned area, not to mention that even the light was enough to irritate him right now, so I let him be after the second try.

“I… I think it would be best if we simply bandage both eyes for the time being, give them time to heal.” The younger man just nodded, so I applied a generous amount of burn cream, some special stuff I nabbed at the hospital once, where I could reach and gently bandaged the area, same with his arm.

Afterwards his brother helped him stand and carefully led him inside the house. I checked all the warding again and quickly called some hunters I actually knew I could trust. They promised me they would keep an eye on the town for a while, so shit like that wouldn’t happen again.

I found Dean lying on the couch when I came back in, looking comfortable, a bottle of water placed on the coffee table next to him, as well as a packet of painkillers. Sam was already staring at one of the books again, but his eyes didn’t move the whole time I looked at him.

Dean needed rest right now, but it was understandable that he wanted to be in hearing distance while he was down a sense as important as sight. I couldn’t imagine how it was to be blind, and I really hoped this wasn’t a permanent thing for Dean either.

Sure, losing one eye was not the same thing as losing sight as a whole, but hunting was dangerous… It took time to get adjusted to a blind spot, not to mention the fucked up depth perception that came with it. For a hunter every mistake could be the last one, and we were fighting angels and demons of all things… We didn’t have the time for getting adjusted and I feared the consequences this injury could possibly have for the boys.

But now was not the time to think about that. Sam had a tendency to get lost in guilt, so I tried to lighten to mood and stay positive for the three of us.

“So Dean, what do you want to eat?” I asked and could see the typical smile. It was weird… with the bandages covering half the boy’s face and all, but also a little relieving.

“Order me some pasta from that Italian place. I think they had salad on the menu, and you liked the beef pizza.” He answered and I shook my head. Stupid selfless boy. “Sure, you up for that Sam?” “Sure, thanks.” He sighed back at us, probably thinking exactly the same thing as me.

The following weeks were uncomfortable for all of us. I knew Dean since he was a little kid. He felt useless when he wasn’t able to work, that wasn’t exactly a secret, had been like that ever since he was a teen when he trained with guns instead of playing catch. Lying around and doing nothing wasn’t his thing, but he couldn’t exactly read with his eyes bandaged.

Of course we tried to include him at least in our discussions, but it didn’t help much with the restlessness we all felt.

At least the burns were coming along nicely. They didn’t get infected, kind of my biggest fear after rinsing them out in my fountain, and they were closing up quicker than expected. I was glad on one side, on the other hand I dreaded the day we’d take off the bandages…

Sam was equally nervous, but Dean himself seemed relaxed, unconcerned by the prospect of scars marring his face, everyone knew he was a handsome young man and he lived by it, or even losing an eye. He truly was a soldier, as long as he could continue on, he was fine.

His arm would still take a whole while to heal, there would definitely be a scar, but he already had a burn scar on the other arm to match it, both of us knew Dean wouldn’t care about that one.

But the small splatters peeking out beneath the bandages, covering the bridge of his nose were already closed and scarred over. It looked like the acid hadn’t been a strong one thankfully, the scars were minimal. Honestly, if you didn’t look too closely, they disappeared among the blonde’s freckles. 

So it was time to take the bandages off. My hands were shaking too much, so Sam took over calmly. Most scarred droplets were like the ones already seen, freckles, harmless, invisible. There was a little hitch in his left eyebrow, and a small line where the droplets of acid had dripped downwards on the young hunter’s face.

Dean looked uncomfortable, but he wasn’t in pain, we asked him several times, but we closed the blinds so he wouldn’t be blinded again after spending two weeks in absolute darkness. And then he finally opened both his eyes.

I could’ve cried upon seeing both of his forest green irises. The left one was still a little red, but it looked fine otherwise. Dean was squinting, but smiling and Sam hugged him enthusiastically, like he hadn’t done in years.

Then he switched back to professional mode and asked his brother a plethora of questions. Dean assured again that he wasn’t in pain and that he could see just fine. Sam made his brother look at different things for the next ten minutes, and the green set of eyes tracked the movement just fine. I was glad, because this could’ve ended so much worse…

Nonetheless I insisted on him visiting an eye doctor. Dean moaned about it all day, but in the end went with me willingly. That was a clear indicator that he wasn’t as fine as he wanted to display himself as.

And yeah, the doctor looked a little concerned while examining the thirty year old and quickly sent us to an optician, handing a slip of paper over that clearly declared Dean needed glasses, glasses of all things! The boy looked humiliated while the man showed him one frame after the other.

In the end Dean decided because of the price. Of course he did, he was always money over style, curtsey of growing up poor. The doctor told him he probably wouldn’t be able to handle lenses because his eye was slightly scarred, it would be dry and uncomfortable. He bought some anyways and tried them as soon as we were home, but had to take them out again after half an hour of trying not to scratch the itch it brought him.

A week later the glasses arrived in the mail. Technically the young hunter had been doing fine without them, but his depth perception as a little off, like expected, and he had a constant headache while we were trying to read, things the glasses would cure according to the doctor. I really hoped Dean would wear them, even if he was embarrassed about it.

Sam even tried to suppress his laughing upon seeing his brother wearing them for the first time. The glasses were nearly round, the frame was made of thin black metal, it looked stable enough even though it was only millimeters thick. They didn’t look cheap, although I knew they were.

Dean flipped both of us off at our expressions, but he still wore them. At least from time to time. The man always looked a little younger than he actually was, the glasses only heightening that effect.

Sometimes Dean joked about it, saying he would get his ears pierced and wear a beany, then he’d look like a hipster, commenting that Sam should wear a manbun to fit the aesthetic. I felt a little too old to understand that joke, but whatever.

In the end we did our thing. Hunting things, saving people, stopping the apocalypse. The family business, wonky depth perception be damned.


	19. 18. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Painful wound cleaning / Fever --- Dean, POV Sam
> 
> Dean is Sam's parent, at least more so than John ever was.

My throat was dry and scratchy when I woke up, I was feeling hot all over. My limbs were aching, an intense pain creeping up my entire left leg, standing out even in my muddled state of mind.

I couldn’t quite gather my thoughts for long enough to remember where I was or what got me into this situation in the first place, but when I turned my head, I saw Dean rummaging through his duffle, so wherever I currently was, there was no need to worry. My older brother always took care of things when I was unable to even move. It was a routine that was cultivated for a long time between the two of us.

His clothes were dirty, there was a shallow gash on his forehead when he turned to face me, it was already scabbing over, so it couldn’t have been too bad and I felt relief flushing through my system at that conclusion. He looked worried though and carefully sat himself down on the edge of the mattress I was lying on as soon as he noticed I was awake.

I felt his hand calloused brush away some hair and then his cold palm was touching my cheek, trying to catch my eyes along the way. I had trouble with focusing on him, but after a few seconds of looking at the older hunter he, seemed satisfied and understood that I was really awake this time around.

“You have a high fever.” He informed me and I nodded. The hot and sluggish feeling was typical for all the times I had been sick before. “Are you thirsty?” He asked next and I nodded again.  
Now that my brother mentioned it, the thirst was all I could think about, dry swallowing uncomfortably multiple times. A few seconds later Dean reappeared with a glass of cold water and helped me drink. Sitting up spiked the pain going up my leg, so I was glad I was allowed to lie back down again after gulping the entire glass down like my life depended on it.

The older hunter went back to his duffle afterwards. I was pretty sure I fell asleep again, but I didn’t feel rested when I opened my eyes, feeling as if no time had passed at all, so I wasn’t exactly sure of it..

I tried looking down and found my leg partially wrapped in bandages, but there was still an abundance of open cuts and scrapes from what I could see. Well, that certainly explained the pain. I already felt a little more clearheaded though, so I tried to remember the origins of those wounds.

My eyes wandered through the room while I was trying to sort out my memories and thoughts, finally landing on Dean’s ripped jacket, chucked to the floor carelessly and forgotten ever since. There was a large tear in the sleeve, claws. Yeah, now that I thought about it, I was pretty sure we were going after a pack of werewolves before I got injured…

I tried to sit up, but ended up falling back down into the pillows with a groan, alerting my brother of my wakefulness, who was at my side again before I could even blink.

“Shit, you okay Sam? Do you need some more pain meds? Oh fuck, you should probably take another dose of Tylenol while you’re awake.” He cursed quickly. My fever addled mind could barely comprehend his words when he talked as fast as that, but I swallowed the pills he gave me without a second thought.

“I’m fine, it’s not bad.” I tried to sooth the stress my brother was most definitely going through because of me. He was always stressed out whenever I got sick. “Yeah, sure. Just… just stay still for a while. I’m going to clean the wounds again. You should be fine soon.” He answered, a soft teasing tone painting his words in a familiar and reassuring way. Whatever this was, we were able to handle it if Dean was as calm about it as right now. I appreciated the massage.

I smiled to myself while Dean unwrapped my leg with nimble fingers. Most people probably wouldn’t guess it when looking at the broad blonde, but he could be really careful if he wanted to be.

When he set to actually cleaning out all the cuts though, I couldn’t help but the groan of pain I let slip. There was a pretty sizable gash going along my calf that wasn’t fun at all, but afterwards I was able to relax again, numb to the pain of the smaller scrapes.

Dean concentrated on his work but still looked up at me from time to time to check in, making sure I was fine. I always gave him a quick thumbs up when I saw him do so, reassuring that I was doing okay.

Half an hour later the wounds were wrapped in clean bandages again and Dean helped me drink some more water. He even placed a cold towel on my forehead and told me to sleep it off, before going back to his own bed, where a plethora of weapons was laid out.

I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t, not now that the fever finally had gone down a little, leaving me to my nostalgic thoughts instead. I stared at the form of my older brother instead, he was cleaning all his guns and knives mechanically, the motions well practiced and familiar to the both of us.

Now that I had the time to think about it, Dean had always been doing this when I was sick or injured. Cleaning all his weapons so he had an excuse for sitting close to me all day and not leaving the room when he could get away with it. He was fiercely protective, that much was obvious, but he was also a devoted caregiver.

Even though I was hurt and sick right now I felt secure, because I instinctively knew, Dean was guarding me, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

I desperately tried to bring a memory back to surface, where dad had been there for me when I was ill like this, but I came up empty handed. Sure, there were some injuries he had taken care of, but those were serious. Something you couldn’t leave your other child to deal with in his own, at least not when we were younger.  
Mostly monsters, but sometimes it was training… Dad himself being the one that hurt us…

But when I was sick, Dean would be the one that held my hair back when I was throwing up, he was the one that cooked chicken soup and got my school work for me, laying cold towels on my forehead while I complained. It had always been him, ever since I could remember.

I had tried to do the same for him, but I was a child, clumsy and not yet knowing how to deal with problems like that. In the end Dean had to grow up fast, because he had to take responsibility for the both of us.

Opposing to some of the things I threw at my brother’s head whenever we were fighting, I knew that he was a self-less person. He had to be, because giving up his own childhood for the sake of mine was a big sacrifice for a little boy.

As a teen I would have said that the stories uncle Bobby or pastor Jim sometimes told us about the time when we were small were embarrassing or even annoying. Nowadays I was glad someone told me about our childhood at all, because John never had the time for stories or family photos and stuff like that. That was too much apple pie life for our old man to handle.

Whenever something long in the past came up it was Dean that carried me around, played with me and calmed me when I was crying. Seriously, for a while nobody else was able to do that, only Dean.

When I got too big to be carried by the small child my brother had been once, I was attached to his pantleg or clutching the back of his shirt instead.

It stayed like that for a long time, until our father decided that we were too old for that, but at it’s core our relationship always stayed the same. When I had nightmares, Dean was by my side. When I was crying because of John or monsters or bullies at school, Dean was by my side. Even after fights, and I had a nasty habit of kicking at all the open wounds of my brother in a way that would leave other men crying, he ended up comforting me and not the other way around.

It’s why I felt so safe now, even though we were all grown up and had forcefully outgrown our borderline codependency after I left for Stanford. And yes, I knew exactly we had a relationship, that wouldn’t be strictly seen as healthy, but our excuse of growing up in a violent and unsteady environment was good enough in my mind. (Thank you so much John, for raising us in a fucking car and motel rooms!!)

Dean’s hands were still working away, polishing blades and guns counting bullets, refilling magazines. His gaze was steady, unwilling to meet mine was my best guess. Unwilling to admit that he was sitting there for hours because he didn’t want to leave me alone, paranoid that something bad would happen as soon as he stepped out of the room for even a second.

It was a fear that had been ingrained in my brothers very being, by the hand of our father.

Dad was always overprotective over me, his youngest, in a way he never was towards Dean. The first time he hit him was because of me. Well, at least the first time I was able to recall now, over two decades later.

Once Dean had been a perfectly normal seven-year-old boy. Not perfectly normal of course, there had always been the monsters, and the seeing your own mother burn and bleed, pinned to the ceiling part and then the vagabond lifestyle our father practiced ever since we were children. But he just wanted to be normal and go outside, play with his friends and so on.

Taking care of your three-year-old brother was not perfectly normal either. So what if he left me on my own for a few hours to play? Dad thought a bit different about that and hit Dean so hard, that we moved to a different town right away, because there was no chance anyone would have missed that bruise when looking at the blond child.

Protect Sammy had been the most common phrase to leave John’s mouth when he spoke to his eldest and left the house. Whenever he failed to do that, most often because of myself, because I was too stubborn to just sit down idlily while my father wanted to get me involved with hunting, the punishment was sever.

I knew that I often missed what was going on, because I ran away or simply looked the other way, ignoring that the relationship between my brother and my father got more abusive because of my behavior, but the aftermath was obvious, even if you wanted to turn a blind eye towards it.

Dean got better at hiding bruises, so did I for the matter, but we couldn’t hide from each other. So yeah, Dean was an excellent caregiver out of necessity. It was a bitter thought.

Suddenly Dean got up from his perch, weapons still laid out, but now clean and orderly instead of the disarray from the beginning of his cleaning session. He disappeared in the adjacent bathroom for a second and walked back over to my bed with a new wet towel in hand right after, touching me with nimble fingers.

“Sam, you’re making your fever worse with thinking so hard, I can hear your thoughts from across the room.” The older man teased me, a smile painting his lips. I grinned back up at him.

“That’s not how it works and you know it.” I stated back, putting as much sarcasm in my voice as I was able to handle at the moment.  
“Nah, I’m not so sure about that.” Dean answered, theatrically shrugging his shoulders for good measure.

It was silent for a while after, Dean just sitting at the edge of my bed, not saying or doing anything for once and I felt my smile slip a little. I reached out and grabbed my brother’s wrist, getting him to look me in the eye again.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For all the times you did this for me. And apologize for all the times I was just being useless when you needed me like this.” I murmured, quickly letting go again, because I knew my brother’s technique of running away from his feelings all too well.

But Dean didn’t run or laugh and call it a chick-flick moment, his usual ways of coping with emotions he couldn’t handle on an ordinary day. Instead, he remained where he was and I felt his palm burying itself in my hair again, ruffling the wild locks further.

“You were never useless. You know, it’s normal that six-year-old boys don’t know how to handle someone else having the flu, it’s normal when a pre-teen doesn’t know what to do with broken ribs, you did great for someone your age. You just being there was always enough for me to pull through. So, thank you for that, and now, sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

As always when Dean told me that and I was sick, I did.


	20. 19. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurts to breathe / Caught in an explosion --- Dean, Sam, POV Castiel
> 
> A building falls atop of Cas and Dean, they nearly die, but they nearly die together, that's something, right?

We were looking for a Djinn. I did not know much about these creatures, except for that they existed before us. They were not creations of the same god, therefor my sever lack of knowledge concerning this particular subject.

Luckily the Winchester journal held vast information about all creatures, no matter their ethnology. Dean was always quick and efficient while explaining monsters to me. It was easy with the Djinn, because even though they were old and mighty creatures they lived by simple rules.

They feed of life human blood, comparable to vampires, but with fewer victims. That is because they have perfected the ritual of preserving their meals, keeping humans alive for years while they feed off them.

Dean was intimately familiar with the poison they produced and injected their victims with and predicted that it probably wouldn’t be able to affect me, even in my weakened state. The poison was also the source of the myth that a djinn would grant your wishes upon meeting them, because at injection it sent humans into a comatose state, where the person would dream of a perfect world, where all of their wishes do come true.

The only way to escape this perfect dream and to survive was to metaphorically kill yourself. A route no sane person would take when everything was good for once, that ensured that a djinn would always be well fed.

The only alternative was the death of the djinn, that initiated the dream, something that did not happen often, because of their secretive nature. They were hard to find and their victims simply disappeared without a trace, like so many other people did, even without a supernatural source behind it.

This time was an exception, because there was an abandoned factory, that was going to be deconstructed within the week. People feared that it was haunted and it even made the local news after a small incident. We were lucky to be around, or we’d probably have missed it.

The djinn would probably flee at the latest possible moment only, so the three of us went to work and skimmed the whole building for anything useful. It was clear that it would leave it’s victims to die, something we wanted to prevent, if there was any chance to get them out alive, however many there were.

According to this information our plan of action was quite clear. We searched the slowly decaying factory top to bottom.

Obviously, I couldn’t be an open space, or the deconstruction crew would’ve already stumbled about the humans hanging from the ceiling unconsciously, so we were looking for a good hiding space.

Rooms that had been sealed off or forgotten after the layout changed in the several generations the building had been in use were ideal for a secretive creature like a djinn. Same goes for the underground levels of course, the storage rooms and long corridors were a maze, on top of that some walls had already crumbled down there, the crew deeming it too dangerous to venture any deeper than that, like any other nosy human before them would’ve done.

Sam proposed that it would make more sense to split up for our search. Actually killing a djinn wasn’t that complicated. Angel blades did the trick easily, as well as a normal silver blade covered in lamb’s blood. I preferred not to kill a lamb over this, luckily we had gathered enough angel blades over the duration of our teamwork until now.

Being cut off from heaven kind of made us my brethren’s enemy apparently, so there was an abundance of angels attacking us and with it a number of blades at our hands. It was hard fighting them, my brothers and sisters, it wasn’t hard to protect the humans I loved though, so in the end I was happy with dead angels and their blades in our hands as long as it meant Sam and Dean remained at my side for a little longer.

I didn’t see why not, it usually worked out well to separate, covering ground was of essence in finding the djinn’s lair today, but Dean protested vehemently.

He was naturally a lot more protective than his brother, a truth that worked well for both of them because they were both able to accept the boundaries the other set. Sam knew that Dean needed to have an eye on him to be comfortable for some reason, it probably had something to do with their troubled childhood, but I wouldn’t pry further than I already had.

And Dean knew that he still had to treat Sam as a capable hunter, that didn’t actually need protection. So when Dean actually protested something because he feared his brother would be in danger, Sam always took a moment to consider this objectively.

“Why shouldn’t we separate?” Sam inquired calmly while planning and Dean pointed at the stolen documents from the deconstruction firm.

“We know the first blast to blow out the bearing walls here, here and here will be at 15:00 sharp according to the plan. Then the whole thing will collapse within minutes. We simply don’t have time to deal with this monster’s shit. We should go together, because one of us needs to kill the djinn while the other carries out the hopefully still somewhat alive victims. One of us can’t do both, on top of that, we don’t even know how many people we’re going to find.” Dean explained, his hands still polishing the blade, that did not need any sharpening in millennia of use, just because his hands needed some kind of occupation.

Sam did agree, because it actually made a lot of sense and we started planning a route accordingly. The most realistic point to find the djinn would be in the basement, even if it was quite dangerous to step into the rotting underground part of the structure.

On the next day everything was clear. It was still dark when we entered the old factory, early in the morning, all of us equipped with angel blades and flashlights.

The search took a long time. It was hard to tell time at all while shrouded in the darkness of the underground, but Sam’s watch was ticking noisily. It was past noon by now and all of us feared we wouldn’t find the place in time. The atmosphere was tense. We didn’t talk, all ears focused on trying to catch any kind of sound that could lead us into the right direction.

As expected, there was nothing. It wasn’t like these victims would be crying out for help or screaming in pain. They were slumbering happily and the djinn himself? They were invisible soundless creatures if they wanted to be…

Another corridor ended into a crumpled wall. We were ready to turn around and look for the stairs again. There was another level to go, but Sam motioned for us to stay put, pulling a crinkled paper from his back pocket, halting all of our movement.

It was the plan of the building, the most realistic one we could find after comparing different maps for hours. There should be another room behind that wall.

There was barely half an hour left until we should get the hell out of this place, or it would come crumbling down on our heads as a whole. This was the best chance we had, so we quickly started digging our way through the debris.

The room we found there was musty and definitely hadn’t been touched in years. The only smell was dust and blood. There were two bodies hanging from the ceiling.

“Shit.” Dean cursed loudly, the first real word any of us had spoked since entering the decaying building, rushing to their sides. There was a girl, probably around fourteen and a middle-aged man.

The man was dead, because after checking his pulse with quick fingers the hunter let him hang, directly going on to the girl.

He cursed again and broke the chain holding her up with a small move of the blade’s tip, catching her carefully. “Take her Sam, you’ve got the longer legs, we’re on the clock here.” Dean instructed firmly and the younger brother complied with a grim nod before we started sprinting upwards.

Usually I was content to live as an angel without much of my powers left. Angels were never immortal, but there was no natural cause that could fell us, no matter if grace or none. I was still able to heal better than any human ever could, but not much else. I was cut off from my brothers and sister, my wings were useless decoration that would not carry me or anyone else to safety, something we could’ve desperately needed right now.

I bit my lip and kept my guard up. Until now the djinn hadn’t made it’s presence known, but it could still attack at any point…  
Dean was just as vigilant while Sam sprinted on ahead of us, careful not to jostle the girl too much on his way upwards.

We quickly found the stairs again and jumped up, all of us taking two at a time in our hurry. We reached the ground level when Sam suddenly stumbled backwards again, a somewhat human looking figure appearing in front of him with a screech. The djinn…

Dean jumped behind his brother’s back, keeping him and the unconscious girl in his arms from falling down the stairs in a heap, so I quickly stepped in front of them, my blade drawn and flashlight discarded to the side. There was enough daylight to fight. Actually there was too much daylight, I guessed we barely had ten minutes left to get out of here.

“Run!” I could hear Dean, probably directed at his younger brother, so I ignored it and tried to get the djinn, that was still hellbent on following his victim.

I could see Sam run past in the corner of my eye, but I needed to focus on the fight, so the djinn wouldn’t end up stabbing me with it’s poisonous claws instead of the other way around.

Then Dean appeared in the monster’s back out of nowhere, I hadn’t known him to be so sneaky up until now, and stabbed it between the ribs. The djinn screeched again, withered and died, completely disappearing, dust the only thing that remained.

Sam was already standing at the exit, a tall hall above us that spanned all eight overground levels. I had no idea what had once been fabricated here, but the core information was, the hall is big, so big that Sam’s frenetic voice barely reached us from the entrance.

I realized what he was trying to say nonetheless, and so did Dean. The time was running up… Both of us broke into a run, Sam retreating out of our line of sight to get the girl to safety, but probably also to tell someone to hold up the damn explosion, that there were people inside. He was intelligent like that, and I once again cursed my lack of usefulness.

We were close to the exit when there was the loud sound of crashing, several controlled explosions, metal beams being bent out of shape, wood splintering. The pressure wasn’t enough to down me, but Dean was thrown into the wall. The wall next to the damn door, we were so fucking close!

I jumped and tried to catch his wrist, anything really, it didn’t matter, I only knew that his human body was fragile. Mine was much closer to human than it had ever been before, but I was still so much stronger than Dean. I needed to protect him, so I buried his taller body beneath mine as best as I could before the ceiling came crashing down around us in large chunks.

It only took seconds after that for the outer wall we were squished at to snap and suddenly all daylight was gone.

I did not lose consciousness, but I knew I lost a little time. The pain and the pressure I felt was intense, it was so loud that there could’ve been no sound at all just as well. I couldn’t hear Dean, let alone myself, and even my eyes could see nothing for a good few minutes, dust burning in them until enough tears fell to clear them.

I didn’t know how long it was until Dean began to stir beneath me. I could feel his muscles try to move where our legs were pressed together, but that only managed to evoke a muffled sound of pain from the human. There was a lot of weight on our lower legs, probably an old wooden beam from the way it felt. Even I wasn’t able to kick it off.

One of my hands was pressed to the concrete right next to his head, I could feel his hot breath puffing against my wrist in a fast but regular rhythm. It was easy to derive from it that the hunter was in a decent amount of pain.

My other hand was pressed to the ground underneath his armpit, my lower arm following the line of his ribs for a while. I easily felt the muscles of his lower back working while he was trying to move at my abdomen. It would’ve been quite the compromising position under any other circumstance.

“Cas?” His familiar voice groaned after a while of unsuccessfully squirming in place. “Yes Dean.” I answered calmy, although even I could hear the quiet strain in it.

“Shit, you okay?!” He asked right after realizing what kind of situation we were in. “Of course Dean, more important, how are you?” I asked right back, which got a snort from the blond man, who once again tried his range of movement.

One of his hands found my wrist closest to his face and quickly latched onto it with a firm grip, the other arm only twitching pitifully from what I could tell engulfed in complete darkness. “I’m pinned, can’t move much, but it’s not too much pain. Probably broke my wrist. Not sure if the knee’s dislocated or of the position is just really weird though.” He answered honestly.

I twitched my own legs as best as I could, nudging his in the process. Dean hissed loudly, but otherwise stayed lax. “Okay, not dislocated then. That’s good.” He mumbled a little breathlessly and I tried to clear my throat of all the dust.

“Can you breathe well?” I continued asking after and felt Dean move a little, probably a nod, even though his face was definitely still pressed into rubble and broken concrete, which had to be highly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I’m good for now. Ribs are more or less fine. Don’t know how much space is in here though, or well, air.” He said with an audible cringe, his hand letting go of my arm briefly so he could pat around the walls still caving in on us, trying to get a feeling for how much room there was.

I could hear his hand tap around the concrete and wood surrounding us, when he suddenly landed on the large support beam pushing down on my back, threatening to squish the both of us under the stone slab resting atop of it. And that probably wasn’t even the last of it, the weight definitely felt like the whole outer wall was pressing into my back.

“Shit! Shit Cas, what the fuck!” He cursed softly, his voice edging onto a desperation I had never heard the oldest Winchester use before. That’s probably when he realized that my own breathing was stuttering and heavy. Unsurprisingly being near human also demanded my to actively breath in oxygen nowadays.

“Can.. can you breathe?!” He asked, sounding exasperate and… panicked? No, Dean rarely ever panicked, why should he because of something like this?

“It hurts, but it’s still working if that’s what you mean?” I answered, freely showing him my confusion about the sound of his voice. Dean made an even more confusing sound, something between a laugh and a sob, that had my heart reeling.

“Okay… That’s good… Not really, but well… Tell me if it get’s harder, yeah? We probably shouldn’t talk much. Not a lot of room around us, so probably not a lot of air either.” The other man said softly and I hummed in agreement, straining my muscles to keep upright while Dean relaxed as best as he could, his warm hand once again clasped around my wrist, holding my pulse point with his thumb carefully.

I didn’t know how much time passed. It was hard to tell with darkness and silence other than ominous creaking and loud cracking all around us. It was getting harder to breathe and I could feel sweat and blood sticking to my skin all over my body. My limbs were trembling with the strain of keeping upright. I needed to keep the weight off of Dean!

Even though I tried I knew I was slowly lowering myself. His muscular back was pressed flush to my chest by now, from time to time I could feel his short hair tickling the tip of my nose or grazing my chin.

My knee was digging into my beloved’s thigh painfully. It hadn’t been bad at first, but the angle was getting weirder, my own thigh pressing to his ass. Something I would otherwise enjoy, but this time Dean’ soft moans were those of pain. I was only moments away from breaking his femur with the weight resting atop of us, I could feel it and desperately tried to move it, but I just couldn’t. The weight was getting too much for both of us…

I could feel blood drippling down my arms, it was so goddamned hot and oh wow, I just swore on the name of my father, that is new.

“I’m sorry Dean.” I panted out after an especially loud crash could be heard through the slabs bracketing us on all sides, pushing down on us.. “It’s getting really hard to breathe.” I huffed, another drop of sweat falling down my chin into my partner’s neck.

By now his free hand was clutching and clawing at my arm in pain. “I know, me too.” The blonde panted back me. He was intertwining his fingers with mine was best as he could in the position. “It’s fine, you can lie down now. Relax. I love you Castiel, it’s fine like this.” He mumbled softly and felt new wetness traveling down my cheeks.

“No! No I can’t, you’ll die, we’ll die!” I growled back at him before a sob clawed out of my chest, not fully able to form due to the immense pressure bending my ribs out of shape. “I love you too.” I whispered back, breathlessly, tears falling freely all the while.

I still tried to fight it, but my arms were slowly giving out, putting more and more pressure on the back of the human I tried to protect so desperately.

And suddenly there was light and cool air, the pressure disappearing, chunks clattering down all around us. I could breathe and instantly lifted my body off Dean again as best as I could. I sat up, the beam and the slab sliding off my back and pushed another wooden beam away from our legs, finally pulling my knee out of Dean’s thigh.

The taller man groaned in relief, taking deep even breaths, but lying still otherwise. I hurried, jumping to my feet, staggering a little, pushing all debris off the man I loved and gathering him in my arms.

There was a crowd staring at us, but I didn’t care. So what if they saw strength that did not truly fit with a simple human, I needed to save Dean, that was all I could care about.

A giant machine had pulled the chunks of cement and concrete away. Sam was standing among them, quick to help us away from it all, concern staining his expression.

Dean denied help from the paramedics, so did I. The girl was already in hospital, she would make it. I only heard about that distantly. All I cared for was Dean, a little scraped, but insistent that he was fine.

“Are you?” He asked back at me and I once again felt deep confusion. “What?” “Fine. Are you fine?” He asked back at me and I shook my head. “I’m an angel Dean, something like that can’t kill me.”

“I mean, are you hurt? I don’t want you to hurt even though I know you can take it. I love you Castiel.” I stopped in the middle of our track, still carrying Dean as if he weighed nothing after having a whole factory pressed to my back. I blinked down at my beloved dumbly before catching myself again, walking back to the motel, along the younger brother.

“Yes it hurts. A little. But I’m going to be fine as long as you are. You don’t need to worry as much.” I answered and the blonde looked up at me fondly. “I always worry. Ask Sam.” He was grinning, and the mentioned brother scoffed, probably only letting us get away with sappy talk like that because we nearly died this time and I knew, all was well.


	21. 20. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bleeding through bandages / Gunshot wounds --- Dean, POV Jody
> 
> Dean hates Witches and Jody saves the day with being trustful and friendly like she always does.

Everybody who ever hunted with Dean knew, the thing he hated the most weren’t demons or angels or wendigos, they were witches.

Knowing this fact was easy, he was rather open with his thoughts on the matter while complaining about them, but it was hard to imagine after getting to know all the different kinds of horrific monsters the Winchesters dealt with since Dean’s early childhood, that the thing he really hated the most were witches.

At their very core they were human. Mostly human women, a thing Dean usually knew to appreciate, but witches? Dean would act like a little girl forced to touch a worm in a schoolyard.

Yes, their practices were kind of gross, bones and bodily fluids and stuff, but Dean usually wasn’t against getting dirty. Digging up a grave in the rain had it’s pitfalls one could say.

It took some time of getting to know the young man until I was really able to understand that Dean actually enjoyed some of the things that would be deemed of the more feminine variety here in the countryside. Well, it did kind of help that I was around his age, much closer than most of his other friends had ever been, the hunters we usually met were all well into their fifties by now and on top of that I had the bonus of being a woman.

It wasn’t hard to tell that Dean didn’t have many women in his life, excluding all of his flings of course, those he had in abundance, but those weren’t real relationships either. There was never a connection deeper than a night spent together, the exceptions where feelings were involved were rare and usually didn’t end well.

And I understood why. Dean needed a lot of time to really open up. On the surface he was an easy-going guy, flirty and friendly, someone to be described as likeable by everyone he met in passing. But in actuality, he was slow to converse honestly and deeply with people, especially so with women. Most potential partners wouldn’t be patient enough to wait for him.

The brothers lost their mother when they were very young and their father never found himself another woman, at least not one he let into his life with honest enough intentions to meet his kids. Definitely where his sons got their tendency towards one night stands. Not that that was a bad thing either, don’t get me wrong, but being unable to form an emotional connection was just the wrong reason for it.

There were few female hunters, at least in this part of the country. There were few female sheriffs as well, so I kind of got the struggle of not being taken seriously by men like that. But the Winchesters weren’t like that either. They were very respectful. Sometimes a little too much so, awkward and unsure how to act around a “Lady”, especially Dean. Not that I had a reason to complain.

So after being patient enough I learned that Dean enjoyed long warm baths and nice smelling lotions. Taking care of things, including himself, was a deeply anchored part of his personality, that was often severely neglected because of his self-proclaimed duty.

So in the end he just honest to god hated witches because they were gross. Sometimes the answer is simpler than expected, even with complicated people like the Winchesters.

It also didn’t help that witches were mere humans, stupid enough to think that entering a contract with a demon would benefit them more than the creature they were serving. They were egoistical and dumb according to Dean. Most of them were also batshit crazy to boot, but killing a human still wasn’t fun.

That was in a weird way calming to hear, because Dean often enjoyed hunting more than I was comfortable with. I was a cop, I understand duty and protecting civilians, but killing is not something that should be enjoyed, or you yourself are going to end up as part of the problem one day.

It was a little different with monsters, I knew that, and Dean definitely wasn’t the textbook version of mental health either, there was a ton of age old issues to unpack with him and his younger brother, so yes, it was calming to hear that he at least did not enjoy killing a witch, ever…

It was obvious that openly talking about all these things wasn’t an option for either of the brothers, so I tried to help them in other ways. Indulging Dean certainly was an easy way. I cooked meals they enjoyed, and offered a warm, secure place to sleep when they were around. Leaving some nice shampoo for the older brother was a bonus that was appreciated, at least according to the soft smell surrounding the blonde and his especially shiny hair when he visited my place.

What I hadn’t expected was for Dean to get that comfortable in my home that he’d show up when he was in a pinch, especially not without his brother in tow.

That was the exact case tough, because suddenly there was a loud bang coming from my backdoor. Nobody living in Sioux Falls would come knocking on my backdoor, except for Bobby, and the man had been dead for nearly two years now.

I rushed down anyways, throwing the book I’d been reading down on the nightstand carelessly.  
When I opened the door it was pouring outside, the air was bitter cold, but no more snow was falling, the white still clinging to the muddy ground more slosh by now than anything else.

Dean was standing there, clutching the doorframe, one hand pressed to his side. “Sorry Jody, I need a place to hide for a little while. Didn’t know where else to go.” He mumbled apologetically. It was barely audible over the sound of water pattering down around him.

I ushered him inside before trying to say anything in return, then I rushed off to the bathroom to get the younger hunter some towels so he could dry off. When I came back Dean was sitting on the floor, his back pressed to my storage cupboard, still clutching his side.

The once white shirt he wore was stained rust brown down to his soggy jeans. “Shit, are you injured?!” I asked him hastily, crouching down at his side, helping him out of his layers of jackets and flannels as gently as possible.

“Yeah, witch. She had a gun. That’s new.” He growled when I was peeling the last layer of his sticky shirt away. Underneath was a thickly tied bandage. It was definitely a job done in a hurry and the material was so wet with blood and rainwater by now that it came falling off easily.

“Did it go through?” I asked him, pulling up my professional front without much struggle even though Dean was more than just a close companionship by now. “Yeah, exit wound in the back.” He confirmed and I carefully helped him to lie down so I could turn him onto his side. The exit wound definitely needed care first, depending on the caliber of the weapon there was a lot more damage to expect than on the entry point.

Yep, there was even more blood and for a second I was glad that we were doing this in my kitchen. The tile was clean, probably the closest thing to sterile my little house had to offer.

“Pain?” I asked him next and Dean paused a second, probably considering the level of pain he was in for the first time since getting shot. “Not too bad. There’s not too much blood either, looks like I got lucky and the bitch didn’t get anything important.” He concluded and I nodded. There was really nothing else to do than trust the man’s judgment.

If Dean hadn’t already gone to a hospital, there was definitely a reason for that and I remembered what he first said when he came to me. A place to hide… “Where’s Sam?” I asked him next, quickly gathering my medical supplies from around the kitchen.

“We kind of had a fight. Split up for a while, so he didn’t know about the case. I don’t even know where he is.” The younger confessed meekly, looking more than a little uncomfortable for reasons that had nothing to do with the wound in his side.

“Alright. So, tell me what happened?” I asked him the next question in the mental list that had been forming in my head while cleaning the wound with steady hands. The disinfectant had to burn, but Dean stayed still as best as he could.

“Told you, I ran into a witch. I caught her off guard while she was doing some gross ritual or something, so she just grabbed her fucking gun and tried to shoot me! Well, as you see, she managed. I shot her and hightailed it. Some neighbor definitely heard that, so I need to lie low for a while. It’s alright if I can’t stay here, I understand that you can’t lie for me. You’re probably going to get involved in the case, small town. I’ll be out of here by sunrise, promise.” He explained, his voice astonishingly calm for someone with a gunshot wound as bad as this one.

“Dean, you don’t need to worry about that. You’ll stay here for a while, that’s best, they won’t come search their colleagues house for no reason. You’re safe here.” I said back at him, disinfecting a needle and unpacking a sterile thread.

The green eyes of the younger man wandered around my kitchen hectically while trying to process that until he finally settled on a tentative thanks. “Okay. But you need to tell me when I’m supposed to leave, yeah?” “Alright, but for now try to relax.” I agreed easily and then began the stitching.

Dean was tense all along while I was working on his front and even attempted to sit up at one point, looking like he wanted to tell me that he could do it on his own, but in the end he didn’t say anything and let my do my thing. Having some actual medical training came in handy.

He got even more uncomfortable while I was stitching the exit wound until he felt like he was vibrating under my hand, only then did he say something again. “Are you sure I can stay here? I broke the law in your county Jody, I shot somebody.”

I made a soft but pointed tsk sound that had the intended scolding effect going by Dean’s twitching shoulders. “Dean, that woman was a witch. She was doing something bad when you were trying to hunt her down. And she shot you first, even if the police would be able to trace that body back to you? That’s self-defense.  
I know why you ran, you need to stay under the radar with your profession and I trust you, that’s why I’m going to hide you for as long as it takes. You understand that?”

It was silent for a long while, Dean tracing the outline of my tiles with his unoccupied fingers until he carefully nodded. “Good.” I smiled at him even though he didn’t look up at me again until the gunshot wound was neatly stitched, cleaned again and bandaged.

I offered him some pain meds and antibiotics, but Dean was quick to decline because he had his own. I was skeptical until he showed me, but the brand was actually very good from what I could tell, so I let him get away with it.

Dean slept in the guestroom he usually shared with his brother, forgoing a meal, so I cooked him an extra hearty breakfast on the next morning to make up for it. As expected, Dean loved it, he was easily bribed with food into staying.

The hunter was of course right, my next workday was filled with the new case, the murder scene resembling a satanic ritual. Most of the prints around the house were useless and one of the blood samples got “lost” so it was clear that Dean’s name would never show up in our register.

The case blew over quickly. The witch had a lot of enemies, so a lot of possible perpetrators for her murder, and on top of there was also the chance that this was a) consensual and planned as part of the ritual, or b) a simple robbery and a woman at the wrong place at the wrong time.

There were too many unpredictable variables, the file was shelved within a month.

Meanwhile Dean’s wounds were healing well. I also heard him call his brother more than once and while their talks were usually more fighting and shouting in the beginning, they were calm by now. They had definitely reconciled, not that I ever got involved, I didn’t even know what they had been fighting over, but I was still glad it ended like this.

By the end of the month Sam showed up with the typical roar of the Impala and gathered his brother in his arms. It was a brief hug and I got my own version of it right after.

I wanted them to stay for dinner, but they were quick to leave after meeting up again. “Thanks for taking care of us Jody!” They called back at me, already sitting in that fancy car of theirs.

“No problem boys, but how about you come around for a real dinner once? Christmas maybe? You know, some cheesy family time thing.” I called back at them, and two hands flipped me off before disappearing out of our small town like they always did. I didn’t know when they’d show up again, put I knew they would, that was enough for me.


	22. 21. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black eye / Concussion --- Dean, Sam, POV John
> 
> John knows he's not a good father, but he doesn't know how to stop it either.  
> The abuse is more of the emotional kind in this chapter, although there is a scene where John hits Dean there is not a lot of graphic violence.  
> Personally this is one of my favorite stories, I'd be happy if you could leave some feedback in the comments

“What do you mean with they took your shit?” I asked, barely able to stop my voice from vibrating with pent-up aggression.

“Exactly what I told you. They jumped us on our way home and took our shit.” Dean answered defiantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Sam was supposed to be washing the blood off his face, it’s the first thing I told him to do when the boys entered the house we were currently living in, but I knew that he wasn’t in the bathroom. Probably standing right around the corner, listening in on us. He was going through his defiant phase, a normal thing to do as a nine-year-old apparently, but Dean was definitely too old for that shit by now.

“Dean!” I warned him with a low growl and took a step closer to him, that had the boy flinching. I knew the blond teenager was trying to hide it and that only got me more angry in the end.

“Sorry sir.” He relented and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. At least let him explain.

I knew that my boys were kind of unruly. I wasn’t always there to keep an eye on them, so that had to happen from time to time. Let boys be boys and all that shit. But if they wanted to start a fight, they better man up and fucking win it! Coming home without their schoolbags, filled with all the expensive shit they needed according to this state? Unacceptable!

“So come again. Tell me how a bunch of high school kids stole all your stuff? And oh yeah, why in heaven’s name you let them get away with stealing from you AND punching your fucking brother in the face?!” I started asking calmly, but in the end the rage I felt took over and I practically screamed at the teen in front of me.

Dean’s back straightened more with every word I said, his stance and shoulders wide, like I taught him to do when he was scared, ready for an attack but I could still see the way his hands were trembling at his side. Showing weakness to the enemy, a sever mistake he still had to outgrow. I suppressed another growl and shook my head, disappointed in my son.

“There were six of them. They were older and bigger and held me down, I…”

“I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses! Your job is to protect your brother, you hear me?!” I screamed back at him, and this time he took an actual step back. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him close until we were practically chest to chest. Well, he still had some growing to do, so it was more like face to chest, but whatever.

“Today you failed Dean, and you know that failure could mean death on any other day. You want Sammy to die?! For god’s sake Dean, we fight monsters, you can wield a fucking gun better than most adults I know and I taught you everything I know about beating someone or something up. We train together, you know what you need to do when someone’s bigger than you!” I cursed at him and saw his posture drop until he was practically cowering before me.

The boy didn’t answer, didn’t even look my in the eye and I grabbed his shoulder with my other hand, shaking the kid. “Do you think this is funny?! Am I some kind of joke to you, huh? That stuff is expensive, we don’t have the money to buy it all again! Hey, are you even listening?!” I hissed back at my eldest and he finally looked back up at me.

The blonde’s eyes were red, as if he was about to cry, but his voice was steady when he spoke up. “I fucking tried, okay? What do you want me to do about it, huh?! Shoot at them? I hate school anyways.”

That was it, the last string of patience snapped and let go of the boy’s shoulder, only to pull my arm back and strike a punch that would get a man twice the size of the kid to keel over. My hold on his wrist was the only thing stopping Dean from crashing down to the floor head first.

He was out like a light and I let him drop the rest of the way to the ugly brown carpet of our living room. I still felt the pent-up rage seeping in though. I wanted to lash out at everything I could fucking reach, including the unconscious boy laying at me feet, but Sam was sprinting to his brother’s side, protectively kneeling between my feet and the little shit’s face, sobbing childishly.

I kicked the next best thing, a rickety old chair, into the wall instead, satisfied after I heard the wood splinter and crash, grabbing my jacket and cursing all along my way out of the fucking house. I took both keys with me. Not that my boys would ever get the idea to run from me, Dean would always stay by my side, even as Sam grew more and more rebellious with age, but better safe than sorry. Teens had a tendency to overreact and run away when things got too much for them.

I needed some time to calm down first and foremost now, get rid of the steam that had been building up ever since we moved here. I drove to the next bar and sat myself down for some drinks.

After the fifth beer my knuckles were starting to hurt. They were bruised and swollen. I really didn’t hold back with that punch, hm… Dean was thirteen now, he could handle a hit like that, I knew it but still…

I was starting to feel guilty. I love my boys, I really do. It was never my intention to hurt them, but they just had a way of getting under my skin. Dean had always been an obedient boy, never saying much as a kid. He was starting to outgrow that and I worried. He had to watch his mouth around people, or they would start to lose their temper around him. Just like I had today.

I sighed, ordering whiskey instead of beer for my next round and downing the glass in one single gulp. The bartender was quick to give me another. Apparently, I was still radiating anger if the man’s reaction time was anything to go by.

I was always worried about my children. I had learned over the years how cruel and hard the world was towards it’s residents. And the boys, they were so small and soft and weak, so I tried to teach them how to be hard, but it felt like they were kicking and screaming all along the way, refusing what I was able to give them.

Bobby was probably right, I would never be a good father to them, but I tried my best, even if I ended up hurting all of us like that. Maybe it just was the Winchester family’s curse, that as long as we were together, we ended up hurting each other, just like Mary and me had been constantly fighting since starting this damned from the start family thing.

I ordered one last glass and drove back home afterwards. It was already dark outside, rain splattering the windshield. What a shitty winter, there wasn’t even fucking snow out here.

When I unlocked the front door, the house was silent. That was unusual, because either of the boys would always be sitting in front of the TV by now.

Dean was still lying on the exact same spot on the lumpy brown carpet I had left him on, his head resting on a pillow brought from upstairs, an empty trashcan sitting beside him and his brother sitting on the floor next to him, knees pulled towards his chest so he could bury his face in them.

Sam looked up with wide fearful eyes as he heard me enter the room. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, right before a crash, unsure if he could even move or if he wanted to bolt from his sitting position.

He calmed down significantly as I hanged my jacket back up without commenting. Without getting angry again as soon as I saw them.

Dean barely even turned his head in my direction, but I could still clearly see the shiner covering his face in the dim light coming from the kitchen. The boy’s left eye was swollen shut and colored darkly, a hint of a bruise already creeping across the bridge of his nose and flowing beneath his right eye as well. There was crusted blood sticking to his nose and his one good eye looked lethargic and slow as it followed my movement.

Aw shit, he looked like hell. The fact that he hadn’t gotten up was courtesy enough to let me know that he was absolutely feeling like shit too. Dean was a boy that always got back up, no matter how hard he fell, unless he felt like he wasn’t able to do so.

The trashcan sitting there accusingly was a clear indicator that the kid felt nauseous, probably thought he was going to throw up at one point. I was glad he didn’t, because it was becoming pretty obvious that I had hit my child hard enough to give him a fucking concussion.

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers and hissed out a breath, that had both boys flinching. I could feel my anger bubbling somewhere deep inside at that. I really really needed to work harder with them at keeping their fears in check, but now was not the time for that.

I also felt like the shittiest person on earth, because really? I scared them so much by now and it was no one’s fault but my own.

It was necessary to put some discipline into the boys, I had to train them, even if they ended up hurt, but the monsters, may they be of the human variety or actual monsters, wouldn’t pull their punches either.

But this time? I had lost my temper and hit my own, defenseless son square in the face. That was a low blow even for my standards.

It was just so hard to accept that my sons were getting… bullied at school. Because, really?! Yeah, Sam was kind of a nerd, but he was a nice kid, aren’t children supposed to be nice to each other at that age??  
And Dean? Dean was supposed to be one of the cool kids, by all means, he was into sports and weapons and traveled through the whole country. He was like me at that age, and I never struggled with making friends or getting girls to like me.

But Dean was also oh so different from me and it got me scared… It probably didn’t help that we were once again living in the fucked-up part of town, or that they were constantly the new kids wherever we went and that their clothes were from good will.

Yeah, humans ended up being the worst kind of monsters most of the time, I just hadn’t accounted for the high school bullies kind of monsters in my life.

“I’m sorry.” Dean rasped from his place on the floor, his voice soft but scratchy, probably because of the serious hit his head had taken, but also because he may have been crying. I couldn’t tell.

“Sorry for mouthing off sir. And for getting Sammy hurt. And the stolen books, should’ve done better.” He slurred and I fought to suppress a sigh at that. Sam was just sitting there, next to his brother, all the while and not saying a damn thing.

Well, at least his memory was working fine and he hadn’t thrown up, he was even meeting my eyes with the one he currently had use of, so it looked like a trip to the hospital wouldn’t be necessary. Thank god, because a shiner like that would get us a lot of unwanted attention in no time.

I knelt down at the boy’s side and carefully inspected the damage. He moaned pitifully when I peeled his swollen eyelid back to have a look at his eye, but luckily it wasn’t injured.

“It’s fine son, I’m not angry anymore.” I tried to sooth him while I helped him to sit up. He got paler the instant he was upright, so I continued to talk in the hope that it would help him stay focused. “It’s just some books, nothing to worry about.”

Sam was already crouching besides his older brother and wisely held the trashcan ready, because about two seconds later Dean was gagging and heaving bile into it, silent tears of pain streaming down his freckled cheeks.

Neither of them spoke up when it was over, we were all just sitting there silently. Sam knew all the tells of his brother and vice versa, I felt totally out of the loop here, had no plan what they were waiting for. It was like they were telepathically communicating or some shit, what a dysfunctional disaster of a family.

In the end I got tired of waiting whatever moment the kids were having out and carefully lifted the older boy into my arms. He was confused for a second, it had been a very very long time since I last carried either of them, but after that he was quick to lay his arms around my neck for balance.

“You’re not gonna throw up on me, are you?” I asked the boy and he weakly shook his head as an answer. I was not a fan of non-verbal answers, especially from Dean, who had a disturbing tendency to lose his voice for weeks at a time, but for today I was going to let it slip. I had done enough damage…

I carried my son up the steps, where all bedrooms were, with ease, letting him down as gently as I could manage, setting his head on a pillow. Sam had followed the both of us like a shadow, but when I turned to face him, the scared look in his eyes was gone, replaced with fiery fury that had even me recoiling.

There was a bruise on his face as well, but compared to his brother’s it was tame. The punch of a high-schooler, not that of an ex-marine slash active hunter. I couldn’t quite handle that stare, so I looked back down at Dean and covered the boy in his threadbare blanket, listening for the rain pattering on the windowpane while I tried to reorder my thoughts.

“I’m going to call in sick for the both of you tomorrow. Probably for a few days. And then there’s something I wanted to ask you.” I stated, keeping my voice in a soothing tone that only worked on the older one, because Sam still had murder in his eyes.

Meanwhile the blond boy was looking up at me, radiating gratefulness for being carried and relieved of his duty of going to school in a state like this, as well as curious, because usually I didn’t ask the boys on their opinions, I made decisions that were good for all of us and they simply had to accept that.

“Do you want to stay here until the end of semester or should we leave? I know it’s only a few more weeks, but Dean won’t make it to school like this for a while I guess, so it doesn’t really matter what we do. You can decide.” I offered them and Dean instinctively looked towards his younger brother, handing him the decision in their weird, telepathic brotherly way.

“I’m sure Sam would like to stay a little longer, he likes that teacher and his grades…” I interrupted the boy at that with words, that would probably never leave my mouth ever again.  
“I’m not asking Sam, I’m asking both of you, that includes your opinion Dean.”

Both boys looked startled before looking at each other again. Of course I knew that Sam liked to live a more stationary life, even if there were mean bullies, for him there always were, and his grades were important to him…

But Dean was obviously going through a difficult phase right now. He hated school, no matter if there were bullies or friends or whatever. He never got comfortable in the places we lived in anymore, always on his toes. I had no idea what that boy even wanted anymore.

“Can we leave?” They finally stated in unison and I nodded. “Okay, a few days of rest and we’ll leave this shithole behind us, yeah boys?” Dean smiled weakly at that, Sam nodding in determination.

“Get your brother some ice from downstairs, yeah?” I asked of the younger and for once he complied without complaint. The ice was already neatly wrapped in a soft towel when he handed it over and I carefully placed it on the massive black eye my oldest was sporting by now.

“Feeling better, bud?” I asked the blond kid softly and Dean reached out, brushing his fingertips over my knuckles. My bruised knuckles. “Yeah, thanks dad.” He croaked back at me before pulling his hand back, burying it in the warm confines of his blanket.

Sam hopped into bed besides his brother. I usually was strictly against them sleeping in the same bed or room if we could afford it, but after today there wasn’t much I could say except for: “Goodnight, boys.”

Dean spent the next two days in bed, unable to handle light or loud noises, so his brother and I didn’t switch the lights on and stayed silent except for packing all of our stuff. The two schoolbags stayed missing, but I wouldn’t enroll them in a new school before the new year began anyways, so there was still plenty of time to get them new books.

On the third day Dean felt well enough to get out of bed alone and have a shower. He even ate something other than slices of dry toast. I bought bottles of coke for the drive, something I usually never let the boys have, shit’s expensive compared to drinking tap water like a normal fucking person.

In the evening we got settled in the car and left another small town behind. Sam even let his brother stretch out all over the backseat, so he could lay his head in the nine-year old’s lap, something he was beginning to hate, because he was going through his “I’m too old for this” phase.

I drove throughout the night and most of the day, only stopping in the middle of nowhere to eat something. The waitress gave Dean an appalled look, the black eye even more impressive by now, but other than that no one gave a fuck about our presence. The stupidly blinking Christmas lights were going on my nerves, but my oldest was still looking pale, glad for the food to warm him up a little.

I should really buy him a new jacket. No idea where his old one got lost, but the oversized sweater he was wearing didn’t quite cut it anymore this time of the year, even though there was no snow in this place.

The rain was still falling relentlessly by the time we were back in the car. We ended up spending the night in a parking lot. I wanted to get some distance from the last place after that disaster, so I drove for another two day before finally finding us a town that looked nice enough to spend a few months in.

Well, not that I spent much time there, but the school looked nice, a small community. They would be nice to the new kids, right?


	23. 22. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced to watch / Rope burn --- Sam, Castiel, POV Dean (mild, or I guess pre- Destiel)
> 
> This is more or less a canon re-write from the scene where Zachariah kind of tortures Dean and Sam to get the compliance out of Dean he wants to. Of course it's a little more extreme than the actual TV series, but we know that angels are pretty familiar with torture.  
> Also, there is talk about how consent works and how it's not actual consent if you simply force someone to say yes, so triggering in more than one way.

I knew Zachariah was a bastard since first meeting him, but he was still an angel. A high ranking one at that, Castiel’s boss, something like the right hand man of the remaining two archangels, someone you just really didn’t want to mess with.

And we tried to, we really tried to stay out of his way, to not get his attention, but he said so himself. There was no reason why he’d come down to earth himself, except for keeping his ducks in line and for doing his job.

After the whole Uriel disaster, it looked like keeping his ducks in line was one reason we were a thorn in his side. Castiel was becoming something more than a simple minded angel with every single day he spent on earth, every single day he spent with us… He was starting to understand jokes and sarcasm and the joy of eating junk food and watching TV. Like a person, something his boss definitely didn’t want him to be.

It was beginning to look like all angels, or at least the higher up ones were real assholes, I dreaded the day we’d meet an actual archangel.

And then there was the whole matter of… well, me. It looked like I was currently Zachariah’s job. He made it clear what he expected from me since our very first meeting, where he ended up manipulating mine and my brother’s memories only to tell us that all we needed to do in life was follow the path that was destined for us.

I hated it. Destiny, what kind of bullshit excuse was that?! Was that supposed to mean that heaven planned this, that god was really responsible for my mother’s death, for the suffering my father went through, were the angels and their plans the reason my brother’s girlfriend had to die? That we could never live a normal happy life? To be honest, I didn’t want to know.

Sure it would’ve been nice to have someone to blame for our misery, but at the same time it was too much to comprehend that free will was a measly little lie humans lived in.

And what was he even trying to tell me? Play my role, what the fuck was that supposed to mean?! Meeting Zachariah was always unpleasant, but it got so much worse after he openly stated what he wanted from me.

“You, the righteous man, are Michael’s true vessel, his only vessel. As you know, angels need the consent of their human to us the body they belong to, so I want you, Dean Winchester, to let Michael in. You should be honored, because no one else will be able to rid this world of Lucifer and bring paradise to earth.”

All I could do was laugh hysterically, because really, what an honor! My body being used was such a wonderful thought, wasn’t it? And he didn’t even take the fucking time to try and formulate this at least a little better before coming to me of all people with his request.

Even after possession by a low ranking angel most humans died when they ultimately went back to heaven, or worse, they ended up as brainless vegetables in some kind of hospital. Sure, I had nothing againsts dying to kill a demon if that was necessary, but I’d do it kicking and screaming all the way, as myself, not as the puppet of an angel that didn’t give a single fuck about my will or any other human out there.

Angels were damn egoistic for a species that was supposed to be generous and caring, or at least wise…

“You don’t even know what consent means, do you? Or what it does to a person when you take their choice in it away.” I growled back at the fat little bastard, glad that my brother wasn’t here for this little talk. Sometimes I thought he struggled with working out past trauma more so than I did, bringing that particular incident up always had him a little green around the nose.

“That’s why I’m asking for your consent.” Zachariah repeated in a tone that was clearly forcibly calm. “Forcing consent is not real consent, but I bet it’s enough for Michael.” I answered, not bothering to keep the biting tone hidden at all.

“I’ll give you a little more time to think about it, just think of what could happen to your poor brother, or your stupid little angel, they don’t even know what they’re getting into.” The 6000 year old being answered in a saccharine voice, but the threats he was implying were still more than obvious, enough so that I gnashed my teeth silently until he teleported himself away, the soft rustling of feathers, the only thing indicating that he’d actually been here only seconds ago.

I struggled with making a decision. I didn’t want to hurt my family, or to be more specific, I didn’t want Zachariah and his horde of crazy angels to hurt my family, but giving my body over, my life over, a simple thing without meaning to be used by an archangel was such an unpleasant thought that I ended up gagging whenever I tried to make a decision.

Deep inside I knew that I was scared. Scared that it would hurt, that I would feel violated while we shared my body until I would die in agony and only Michael would remain. I was scared that they’d use me and that Sam and Cas would end up hurt anyways, because I knew without having to meet him that Michael didn’t give a fuck about humans or promises or anything as long as he could kill his brother and bring paradise, whatever that was supposed to mean.

I knew I didn’t want it, that I could never actually consent to giving up on my believe on free will, but I also knew that wouldn’t matter to them, and that scared me more than anything else.

I couldn’t make a decision, so I told them about Zachariah’s demands. Sam wasn’t exactly pleased, but he seemed glad that I brought it up and told me that I was not to simply surrender, no matter what they’d do to us.

I felt lighter after that. There was no longer reason to be scared, because I didn’t need to give consent to anything I didn’t want, not even towards Michael.

Castiel didn’t exactly understand our words or reasons, but he also made it clear that Michael coming back down to earth and fighting Lucifer would not bring us paradise, but apocalypse instead, and nobody knew what that would actually bring. Maybe paradise for angels, but the humans would undoubtedly die and Castiel with his soft stupid heart liked the humans.

He liked us enough that he’d work against his own brothers if the need would arise, because we were both creations of god, we were supposed to love us, not kill each other…

I never understood the need for god in one’s life, or the love and worship for the bible and angels, but at that moment I definitely thought that I adored this one angel in particular. Earth would certainly be a lot more peaceful if all being were a little like Castiel.

It was a nice reassurance to know that none of the people I cared for wanted to see me give in to the angels, but in the end, it didn’t make it much easier to deal with the pressure.

God really hated us, because he made the angels so much stronger and the humans were small and weak creatures in their winged shadows. It was easy for Zachariah to sneak up on us with his men and even though we struggled, all of our monster killing knowledge failed us in the end.

I passed out after a man that was much smaller than me squeezed my windpipe so hard that I felt like my neck was going to snap beneath his fingers and woke up in a room that reminded me of a hospital with it’s white and sterile looking surfaces, but not quite. Some kind of laboratory?

It didn’t actually matter much, all I knew for now was that the tile I was lying on was cold enough to make me shiver miserably and that my hands were bound in front of me by thick metal chains, that continued and at one point disappeared into the floor seamlessly. For now it was slack, but I instinctively knew that there would be no give when pulled, angels and their freacking magic.

Sam. Sam was supposed to be here. We had been alone when they attacked us, so at least Castiel was alright, but where was my brother?!

I sat up instantly, my eyes frantically scanning the room until they finally landed on the prone form of my brother, lying at the other wall of the room, in much of the same position.

Along the walls stood angels, Zachariah in their middle, grinning like a Cheshire cat. One, two, three… At least fifteen of them, no chance of escape. I laid my head back down, staring at my brother. He didn’t look harmed and I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

Sam was finally stirring from his crumbled position when I felt a thick arm snake around my neck and before I knew what was happening, I was pulled to my feet roughly, my spine doing an unpleasant curve to fit itself to the taller man’s chest until my toes barely brushed the floor because of the angel’s superior strength. I grasped, as no more air flowed into my lungs and scrabbled at his arm with my bound hands.

I could see that Sam had stumbled to his legs as fast as he was able to, reminding me of a newborn little deer, or what did Crowley call him? Moose? But my sight was soon blocked by Zachariah’s ugly face and I snarled.

“I told you so Dean. I want to hear you say yes now, c’mon be a good boy for daddy.” The angel told me in his sweet dripping venom voice again and I fletched my teeth as best as I could.

“He’s not gonna be anyone’s vessel!” Sam snarled from the other side of the room and I felt a mixture of pride and fear bloom in my chest.

“Shut up demon spawn, you don’t even know yet what’s in store for you.” Zachariah dismissed him, not even taking his burning blue eyes away from me for a second. Cold sweat was dripping down my back.

What did he mean? Demon spawn? I knew of the demon blood thing obviously, but what did the bastard mean? What’s in store for my brother?! I couldn’t let anything happened to him, I just couldn’t!! So I bit down on the angel’s arm in front of my face as hard as I could.

I felt blood drip, the iron taste filling my senses and my mouth at the same time, skin and muscle gave and my jaw was burning in agony, but I didn’t let up. The angel didn’t react. I felt panic and pain and thought for a second, is this how a feral dog feels before it’s put down?

There was a hand in my hair. It was gentle, but I knew it was Zachariah’s so I still had to fight the instinct to recoil, instead I decided on clamping down my jaws harder. The hand started pushing and more flesh ripped away under my teeth. The gash had to be quite deep and long by now, so long in fact that Zachariah pushed my whole face into it at the end, burying my nose in the blood until I chocked and gagged on it.

I nearly threw up, so there wasn’t really a choice but to let go, cough and wheeze until my airways were free of blood that wasn’t mine. The world still felt like it was tinged red though, all I could taste was blood, the hot and sticky wetness covered at least half of my face, dripping down my whole chest. And still, the angel held onto me as easily as I’d hold the tail of a little mouse.

All I could do was glare at Zachariah, but he was as unimpressed as usual with my antics.

“Say yes or I’ll hurt you so much that you’ll say yes. The outcome is the same, but I can spare you a lot of pain.” The balding angel said calmly but I could also see Sam’s stoic expression over his shoulder. ‘Don’t give in’

I spat bloody spit at his feet und grinned.

The angel holding me up stepped back, dropping me harshly and Zachariah snapped his fingers, pain lacing through my middle the very instant he commanded it.  
“I just gave you a sever case of intestinal cancer stage four as a little incentive.” He explained almost jokingly and set his foot onto my stomach, dropping more and more weight onto me that had me screaming and curling up like a little worm. I would’ve felt ashamed if the pain wasn’t driving me mad already.

This time I really did throw up, and ugly mixture of bile, my own blood and the angel’s blood and so much fucking pain that I forgot where I was for a second.

Sam was screaming my name and the sound of it slowly brought me back to reality. At one point Zachariah had obviously stepped back from me, but the pressure was still there. Wow, cancer really sucked.

Sam was pulling his chains with all his might, but as expected the point where they disappeared into the floor held strong. It was a clever way of fixing chains without also creating a point of leverage to break them.

I sent him a reassuring smile through bloody teeth. Stay calm, don’t do anything you’ll regret later, and I knew that Sam understood, because he always did, that didn’t mean he stopped ripping at chains though.

Another one of the bastards stepped close and crouched down next to me, patting my cheek roughly. “We know that you’re pretty resistant towards torture, most of us watched when Alastair used your bones as toothpicks and enjoyed your carcass. Don’t worry, we’re not as carnal as the beasts living in hell, although it was fun to watch.” The angel muttered, his hand wandering down my side, pressing on my burning middle.

I bit my tongue, the feeling of blood slicking my thighs was much more nauseating than the pain at this point, and I wasn’t even sure if it was a phantom sensation or just another effect of the fucking cancer Zachariah planted in my organs, like he himself was some kind of god and I had to dance by his whims.

“So we’re glad to have some leverage right here with us. I mean, we’d definitely get you to say yes eventually, but it’s so much easier with him here. We know you hate it when someone hurts your little brother, big boy.” He continued unphased by my squirming discomfort, the angel’s voice was almost charming.

Almost, if it weren’t for the horrible words, he was spewing in the first place. Still, Sam looked determined when I looked back at him, calm, ready for whatever they’d try to do to him, just like he promised. I felt bad. Fuck it, I felt horrible, because they were going to hurt my brother, not just because I couldn’t protect him, but also because of something I did. Whatever was coming our way, it was my fault…

Three angels swarmed Sam, surrounded him and grabbed him. I could see my brother struggling, kicking and screaming while they held on and finally forced him to lie down on his back.

“Whatever they do, don’t say yes Dean! Don’t!” He screamed back at me, still struggling until one of the angels stepped on his upper arm and pushed down until there was a loud crack, this time my brother screamed in pain. The angel didn’t stop until the cracking ended and there was only an ugly squishing sound and Sam did move no more, his screaming pattering off into pained panting.

I felt useless, curled up, too weak to even move. I wanted to cry, I was in pain, my brother was in pain because of me, I felt gross, wetness between my thighs where it didn’t belong and blood in my mouth, dripping out of my nose, but I couldn’t give them that. I gnashed my teeth instead, anger was better than despair.

An angel knelt down at Sam’s head, laying my brother’s neck over one of his thighs so it was tilted backwards awkwardly. A second one sat down on the younger man’s legs, he looked bored already and I realized that angels were exactly the same kind of scum as demons. They were used to torture just to get what they wanted and at some point, they decided that it was alright, because humans were beneath them anyways.

The third angel laid a towel down on my brother’s face and I felt another scream ripping out of my throat, this one not in pain, but in pure rage. The angel stood back up, a jug of water appeared in his hand. He didn’t hesitate to pour the liquid across the covered face of the young man lying at his feet.

Sam’s arms began to twitch uselessly, a pained sound coming from him when his broken arm tried to move but ultimately couldn’t lift itself. He tried to sit up, put the angel sitting by his head calmly laid his broad palm underneath his chin, holding him down without putting pressure on his windpipe.

He was chocking anyways, sputtering, panting for air and sobbing when he got enough of it down his throat to do so and I remembered a documentary I had seen as a teen.

White torture, clean torture, they were words our home country frowned upon because they were methods they used often to get the information they needed. Waterboarding was a common technique, because it didn’t leave a single mark or injury behind. You couldn’t really kill somebody that way either, there was no water going down the victim’s throat at all. But it certainly made you feel like you were drowning.

The water didn’t run out, because the men torturing my brother weren’t prison guards or CIA or some shit like that, they were actual fucking angels, that had a jug of water that would never stop running if they wanted.

I tried to get up, all I could feel was the desperate need to stop them, to help my brother, to do something. The pain in my middle burned worse with every movement. It felt like my inner organs were ripped apart and with the words Zachariah had spoken that was very much plausible at the moment.

I barely managed to get my legs under my own body when more blood filled my mouth. I threw up, trembling like a leaf, but my eyes never strayed from Sam’s suffering.

I stood on shaking legs and started moving on determination alone, hunched forward because the pain didn’t lessen, not even with the sick amount of adrenalin cursing through my veins at the moment. Then I reached the end of my chain, just a few feet short of getting to Sam and I started pulling.

I felt weak, but I needed to get out of these chains, so I stepped on it with one foot and yanked, trying to get some leverage, an angle, anything to break it or my fucking hands if that’s what it takes.

“Huh, he’s a though one. Looks like it runs in the family.” Zachariah commented leisurely, standing at my side and grinning down at the work his angels were doing for him. He didn’t even get his hands dirty and he was still wining.

“I’ll step it up a notch, anyone wanna bet how long the dark haired one will make it with only one lung?” Zachariah didn’t wait for answers before snapping his fingers again. This time it was Sam that yowled in pain, his beathing getting harder, panicked even. He couldn’t move from his pinned position, so I renewed my efforts to get free, but the chain didn’t budge.

“Stop! Stop it, stop hurting him!” I screamed, but it ended up more as a moan than anything else, pathetic to the very core.

Zachariah pushed me down with ease, sitting on my back. I desperately tried to ignore his hand wandering on my thigh, patting my knee. “You know what you need to say, then we’ll stop. We’re angels, we don’t break our promises.” He assured me. I wanted to scream, but all that came out was a sob.

I felt like a madman, pulling at my chains until my wrists stopped hurting, blood coating my hands and forearms equally. “No!” I stated firmly and repeated myself for I don’t even know how many times.

My thumb broke, but my wrist still wasn’t slim enough to slip the chains off. Zachariah’s hand was strong, he only had to gather the back of my shirt in one of them and pulled, the whole back tearing away as if the fabric were mere paper, another hand slipping around my neck warningly.

“Say it!” “No, stop, please just stop!” I pleaded uselessly, more angels surrounding my brother and me, blocking the sight of my brother writhing and running out of breath, fighting for his life as far as I knew.

There was another painfilled sensation tearing at my inner organs, I couldn’t scream, there was only a soft groan, my vision blackening around the edges. My nose was completely clogged by my blood, more clinging to the back of my throat until I was chocking on it just like my brother did across the room.

Fingers pushed between my lips, opening my mouth so I could breathe more easily and Zachariah leaned close so he could whisper. “We won’t let you die Dean, not until you say yes.”

I tried to bite, the least I could do was take a few of the winged ass’s fingers off of him, but I didn’t even manage to draw fucking blood. Luckily none of the angels mentioned the tears of frustration that dripped out of my eyes.

Suddenly there was a bright flash of light and the weight on my back vanished. I spat out another mouth full of blood and blinked, feeling disorientate until my eyes landed on the one angel, I was glad to see.

Castiel was standing there, looking a little lost, a complicated sigil scratched into his palm. The sigil to banish angels.

There was a rasping breath in the background and I turned back to look at Sam and pointed at him, swallowing hard to free my airways. “Heal him.” I commanded as firmly as I was able to and the trench coat wearing man nodded grimly before hurrying to the younger hunter’s side.

Sam was still lying on his back, the wet fabric draped over his face, Cas was fast to get rid of it and touched his fingers to my brother’s forehead. Instantly his breathing was going easier and mine along with it.

I closed my eyes for a second and soon enough Castiel crouched by my side, his fingers gentle while they touched me and the pain disappeared. I took a deep staggered breath and sat up, Sam’s hands guiding me. I gave him a wobbly smile.

“Sorry.” I managed to say, but my brother already had me in a hug before I could regret not agreeing to Zachariah’s conditions. “Please, don’t say yes Dean, please don’t.” He murmured softly and I watched Cas over my brother’s shoulder. He looked more than a little uncomfortable.

“I won’t.” I answered, patting the taller man’s shoulder. “But I think we’re supposed to leave though.” I vaguely gestured at the one remaining angel and Castiel nodded hurriedly. “They’re banished for now, but not for long.” He explained and we carefully stood up, still a little riled from the pain even though it was gone now.

Castiel touched both of our arms, gentle in a way that had nothing at all in common with his winged brethren. Maybe he was always so soft with us because he knew exactly that his superiors had no qualms about putting all their strength up against us.

A second later we were back in our motel room. I felt nauseas again, the teleporting always did that, but after throwing up so much there was nothing left to come up, so I just let myself sink down to the floor for a second to rest.

Sam staggered a little but stayed standing. “Won’t they track us if we’re here again?” The intelligent brother asked worriedly and I nodded dumbly.

“Pack your things. I’ll put sigils on your ribs if you’ll allow it, then we’ll disappear again. They’ll make you invisible to angels as long as you don’t call out for a specific one.” Castiel explained calmly.

Sam and I looked at each other for a second taking in the exhausted state of our opposite, the blood residue around our wrists and torn clothing. It would probably hurt to have sigils carved into our ribs, but it would still be better than to be at Zachariah’s mercy again, or someone even worse…

I stood up again, gathering my clothes and weapons into my duffle, Sam doing the same only to end up standing in front of Cas, side by side. “Alright, do what you need to.” I said calmly, stepping forth first.

The angel once again touched me gently, his hand spanning my naked chest, his fingers drifting over the muscles covering my ribs. There was a stinging pain, it felt hot and then suddenly it went again. “That it?” I asked, feeling a little out of my depth and the blue eyed man in front of me nodded.

“Okay, Sam next.” I nodded back, stepping out of the way. Castiel pulled up Sam’s shirt as well and repeated the procedure, I used the time to shrug into a jacket, zipping it up all the way to make up for the lack of shirt underneath.

Then we teleported again, across half the country if the thick covering of snow outside was anything to go by. The room wasn’t much different from the last one, cheap motel, but clean and warm, good enough for us.

“You should clean up. Eat something, rest. I am very sorry for what they did to you, my brothers can be…” Castiel spoke up again, his voice calm and soft in his usual way of speaking, but also something else. Ashamed? For what the other angels did? That one was new.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” I tried to reassure him, but he ended up shaking his head. “No, it’s not right. Michael will kill you, his presence will burn your spirit and your vessel out withing minutes. There is a reason why we need consent to enter a human body, it is not right to force someone to comply.” He admitted in a pained voice that didn’t quite fit his usual rumbling tone. I felt a smile creep up on my face.

“Thanks.” I muttered this time, unable to find better words, picking out fresh clothes and heading for the shower. I really needed that now, it’s been a whole while since I last felt this gross and well… dehumanized. Admitting to it was good, right? The gentle and understanding expression on my younger brother’s face was reassuring and the protection of an angel was nice too…


	24. 23. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buried / Dragged by the ankle --- Dean, Sam, POV Bobby
> 
> A uncomfortable trip to the cursed forest. It's not a triggering piece and not my best either, but I think it captures the depressing side of winter and Christmas pretty well. Christmas is the season a cheer for most of us, but it's especially hard on all people that vary from the mainstream, the poor, the sick, the lonely, they feel separated from all that Christmas stuff, and I bet the Winchester boys felt like that a lot too.

The case we had on our hands was weird in more ways than one. Dead people in a forest could mean a lot of things, especially when the deaths all had a certain morbid quality and no obvious consistency to them.

Sam and I sat down for a lot of research while Dean went to investigate the townsfolk and the murder scenes.

Soon enough it was clear, that something was seriously wrong with this forest in particular. The reported deaths we found dated over a hundred years back, some legends were even of an older origin. On top of that most cases were never cleared up.

There were a lot of scenes that would look like ritual murder to the layman, but they were not of a consistent religious imagery either.

People torn limb from limb, missing hearts or eyes, hanged or otherwise strangled, bled out, the variety and creativity of whatever being was causing this was frightening. There was also a high count of missing bodies over the last century alone, and we still had to assume that the phenomenon was older than that.

That didn’t fit with a current cult, but not with a forgotten religion either, at least as far as I knew. There wasn’t even satanic symbolism, something often used by psychopathic murders to disguise their actual intent of just killing someone in one gruesome way or another without actually knowing a thing about demons.

Dean came to the same conclusion after his investigation. All townsfolk that had been here for more than three generations knew to stay the fuck away from the creepy forest and whatever lived in there.

There was talk about ghosts or werewolves, but that was bullshit for someone who actually knew those creatures. No matter what kind of overpowered wolfpack this was supposed to be, they weren’t capable of this, neither were simple ghosts and a poltergeist, who would certainly be strong and hateful enough for this, was bound to a building of some sort as a home.

Demons or angels would be an option, at least strength wise, but angels had no intention of leading humans astray with disguising their murders, the winged folk from heaven always thought they were the righteous ones, so no reason to hide.

Demons did have fun with laying down wrong tracks for humans to find, it was entertaining to see them squirm and accuse others, being scared, but they were also dramatic creatures that liked to show up personally, taking the laurels for themselves. So this wasn’t their doing either.

There was the possibility of witches, but that didn’t seem right either. If there really were witches this old and powerful around here, there would be some form of myth about them, especially when it was well known that the forest was dangerous, but the word witch didn’t come up one single time, not even in the reports that definitely fit into time where a lot of things were blamed on witches.

The conclusion was that the forest was most definitely cursed and the forest itself was murdering the creatures that dared to enter it.

That didn’t make our job any easier though, because curses could have a lot of different origins and according to those, a lot of variable ways of getting rid of them.

Without witnessing the curse in action and the place it was set up at, there was no reliable way of determining what the best plan of action was. According to the mortality rate in that forest it was pretty stupid to enter it without a solid plan, but there wasn’t much we could do about it.

Sam even suggested abandoning the case, because most people already knew not to enter the forest anyways, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t kids that didn’t know any better or unlucky travels around that stepped in without knowing what was coming their way. Dean was pretty adamant about solving this case because of that.

I felt a little helpless, but in the end had to agree with the older of the two. Low kill count in this time and day still meant dead people, it was our job to stop that, at least if it was possible at all.

We set about learning the most basic ways of dealing with a curse in the hope of bypassing the problematic lack of knowledge concerning the curse’s origin or castor.

In the end it all came down to this one fact with curses anyways. You need to purify the thing they’re attached to, or kill it. Finding the thing they were attached to was the first step in a long, uphill battle.

If the whole forest was cursed, and it definitely looked like that while skimming over all the small crosses dotting the map of the town and surrounding woodland, markers for murders all over the place, it was probably the so called heart of the forest bearing said curse.

One of the oldest trees, somewhere in the middle of the cursed woods was the thing we were looking for.  
The heart of the forest was often referenced in older religions or different nature centered cults, so whoever planted the curse would most definitely choose this spot, that’s what made it so powerful and deadly in the end.

The next step in purifying the forest was forming a circle around the initially cursed tree, including symbols from every religion we could think of. One of them had to work, and finally an incantation.

When the curse was weakening, we’d fell the heart of the forest, hopefully completely uprooting the curse until it vanished out of existence.

In theory it was easy enough, but the forest area wasn’t exactly small, and as the trees already had an intimidatingly high kill count, we were all a little weary before entering the forest around midday. Really, no one of us wanted to be there in the dark, so for once we started our hunt in broad daylight.

The town was covered in a solid layer of pearly white snow, but the forest was dense, even without the leaves adorning the thick branches, so there only was a small dusting, more like sand than actual snow. The wind was cold and biting, none of us too happy to be here, but determined to do our job anyways.

The three of us were on high alert, not a word spoken in the first two hours of trekking between the gray bodies of trees, stumbling over roots and slipping on frozen moss and leaves all along, weapons at the ready.

The forest really was creepy. There was not a sound except for howling wind and creaking branches, no animals scurrying at our feet, no birds rustling their feathers at our presence. The last indicator that this really was a cursed place, because this silence was not natural, the absence of humans as well as animals made it clear that there was something in here that didn’t want company.

Another hour passed, or at least I thought so until I realized my watch had been ticking noisily, the pointer stuck in it’s position.

“Boys, we lost track of time, watch’s dead.” I informed them quickly. Sam instantly pulled his cellphone from his pocket. “Doesn’t work either, you tracked the sun?” He confirmed my suspicions and quickly turned towards his brother.

“I tried, but the tree covering’s thick, I have no idea where it is anymore. You sure we haven’t been running in circles? It certainly is getting darker quick.” The blonde answered professionally, even though the cold was doing a number on him, nose buried in a thick scarf, fingers shaking around the metal of his gun.

Sam held up the map and the compass. “That is still working as far as I can tell, we should be about here, not far from the center and the heart anymore.” He explained quickly, his own red and shaky finger pointing at where we were supposed to be at.

I nodded grimly. “Well, not much choice but to continue, looks like the only way of getting out of here without freezing first is breaking the curse.” Both boys agreed without hesitation.

Dean was right, it was getting darker. It was difficult to guess at the time, but within half an hour or so it was dawn, the trees blocking even the last warm rays of sunshine quite effectively for their bare state.

That’s when Dean took a nosedive and landed face first on the frozen ground, giving an undignified squeak, that had his brother laughing and me trying to suppress a snort.

“C’mon up survivalist.” I grumbled at him fondly while I helped the younger hunter back to his feet. John would probably be absolutely outraged at the view after having his son spend so much time in the woods to train him for survival. 

“I swear to god, that root wasn’t there a second ago.” He growled back suspiciously. He may even be right, but for now we had to shrug it off and continue on our way.

A few minutes later it was completely dark, luckily we were intelligent enough to bring flashlights even though we entered the forest in bright daylight still, so that wasn’t the problem, but the creaking and howling around us got louder, small snowflakes whipping around our cold noses.

“So, is this a snowstorm or the forest trying to tell us to get the fuck away?” Dean asked, still a little pissed about his embarrassing fall and probably also because he was freezing his balls off even with the like seven layers he was wearing.

“Probably the latter.” Sam concluded in a flat tone and I grumbled my assent. The creaking was loud, like those branches should snap instead of bend loud. Not that I wanted a branch to squish us to death or anything, but it felt ominous to be surrounded by these sounds.

“S’like the trees are moving on their own.” I growled distrustfully, stumbling over another set of roots, hidden by the darkness.

The next one to stumble and fall though was Sam, holding his smarting cheek by the looks of it, hissing back at his older brother. “Dean, what the fuck, snapping a branch in my face is kind of not funny right now.”

The older Winchester gave an audible gulp at that. “Sam, that wasn’t me.”

The silence afterwards was more than a little gloomy, because wow, the forest would probably start to attack us for real. That was hard to believe even after all the things we had seen until now, trees, oh fuck this.

We wordlessly helped the younger up and continued with walking a little faster, our goal was close, no time to give up because we were a little scared.

Soon enough another branch lashed out, this one thick and sturdy enough to break a bone, so we jumped out of the way and broke into a run. For a second I cursed myself for not doing a goddamned diet when I had the chance to.

In the end it was my luck, that I was lagging behind, because suddenly a thick root ripped out of the frozen earth in front of the boys. Sam ran right into it, stumbling back, landing on his ass, while the thing wrapped around his brother and threw him into a thick stem, his body sliding down the scratchy bark with a groan.

I ducked beneath the wood and ran past both other men to finally catch view of what we were looking for. A small clearing, the earth broken up by roots, catching small dunes of drifting snow on them. And in the middle of it all a bent tree, with tick branches, the bark weathered and dark, in the dim night light it looked black, something sinister out of a fairytale. And really it was, a cursed tree, the heart of the forest.

Sam caught up to me quickly. “You do the purification, we’ll protect you as best as we can.” The young man assured and I tried to suppress the instinct to argue. Now was not the time to persist that I was the one who should protect them.

“Okay.” I shouted back at him, catching sight of Dean, who was running past, dodging another thick branch snapping his way, giving a quick thumbs up as agreement.

I tried not to stumble over more roots, at least those in the clearing looked stationary, rather than actively trying to kill us and quickly set about getting the purification started.

I just finished with the salt lines and carved the symbols and sigils into the surrounding trees when I heard a loud scream that was definitely Dean. His gun skittered across the frozen floor before I even got my sight back on him, looked like dodging didn’t work out too well.

Concentrating on carving was hard with the sounds of fighting around me. A few shots were fired, although they probably didn’t do much when your enemy was a tree. Still, I had to do it as fast as possible, or someone would undoubtedly get hurt and the cursed woods definitely weren’t fucking it.

I started incantating as soon as possible, but couldn’t keep my eyes focused on the goddamned tree. Not that it mattered, I could try and watch my boys fight, I wouldn’t mess up the words anyways, I was too good at it and way too familiar with the words falling from my lips.

Dean was pinned by several branches and roots, tearing at the wood with his knife to get free, but the pained sounds from him were getting louder. Sam wasn’t doing much better, although a little more effective with his gun.

Dean screamed again, squirming, his shoulder had that awkward angle it always got when the joint was pressured out of it’s socket, a thing he regularly had to deal with, so not an unfamiliar sight, but still pretty fucking painful as far as I knew.

Sam was calling out for his brother, trying to reach him somehow, but his efforts didn’t get much reaction out of either his brother or the forest for that matter.

Then the roots started to snag around the younger Winchester tightly and pulled, he was pulled to his knees first, then down to his back and even deeper down into the thick, muddy groves the wild roots of the surrounding trees had left behind, wood and leaves slowly covering him up.

Dean screamed again, this time not in pain but his brother’s name and Sam instinctively called back. The blond was frantically hacking at the branches holding him down until he was suddenly able to twist and turn himself upright, scrambling after his buried brother.

I grit my teeth for a second, but continued the incantation flawlessly. Inside the salt circle not a single thing moved and the cursed tree was standing in front of me, still and threatening, in a way it looked accusing. “You’d let them suffer for you?” It didn’t need to ask, because I was already thinking so all on my own.

The branches caught up to Dean again before he could get close enough to his brother to even try digging him back out, snapping around his ankles furiously, dragging him back and then finally up until he was hanging midair like a freshly hooked fish, flopping around and panting.

The boy obviously tried to keep his injured arm close, but the position was definitely painful. At least the forest calmed after both victims were pinned, more concerned about what I was trying to do than tearing the other two humans limb from limb, like we’d seen in old photos.

I continued to chant and Dean was beginning to look like he was seriously fighting to keep conscious between attempts to wiggle free, so I closed my eyes for a second, gathering my concentration to end this curse.

The wind was still howling, but the snowfall ceased as far as I could tell in this complete darkness, my flashlight stubbornly pointed at the gnarly tree that was the source of all the evil energy around us.

It didn’t feel any different when I finished the words, but the forest was still, no branches moved, no ominous creaking either, so I grabbed the axe that had been strapped over my back and began to hack that wretched thing down.

It took longer than I hoped it would, the stem was thick, at least the wood was dry and splintered away easily. A cursed old, dead tree, that’s really all it was in the end.

I finally managed to fell the thing after nearly an hour of freezing my fingers off. The boys didn’t make much sound in the whole time, hurt and exhausted as they probably were.

I sprinted towards Dean first. Luckily nothing moved to attack when I bypassed the salt lines, so the ritual did work, nice to know.

The younger hunter was still trying to squirm, a knife firmly held in his shaking hands, but too cold to actually reach the branch slung around his up hanging ankles to get free.

“Don’t move, I’ll shoot you down.” I warned him and waited until he nodded, hanging there calmy before actually shooting the wood. It took a whole magazine until it finally snapped and Dean landed in a groaning heap back on the frozen floor.

I helped him up as gently as I could, binding my own scarf into a sling for his arm, but Dean was just a little too good at pushing the pain away and quickly rightened himself, scrambling towards the hole his brother was in.

By the time Sam was out all of our fingers had a nasty blue tinge, but at least he was fine other than the dirt clogging his nostrils.

We trekked back to our cars numbly, better leave this shithole of a town before they realized we visited the woods in the first place. A little fear of the dark was never a bad thing.

The next city we reached was the exact opposite of the last town. Bright and loud and cheerful with holiday season. It wasn’t the first time that I thought about the fact that Christmas was the high point of suicide rates for a reason.

All that cheerful decoration and the gifts, the good mood. It made me feel like an outsider more than ever while buying medical supplies for Dean’s shoulder and all the scrapes and cuts covering my boys. We weren’t like the other people here, cause all of us had forgotten that in two days was Christmas. We weren’t part of this society and for some reason that felt bad, even for me, who had accepted a recluse lifestyle.

We never found out what or who cast the curse, but we didn’t hear from it again. The best outcome we could’ve hoped for, even if our fingers itched with frostbite for days.


	25. 24. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrown from a horse / Crutches --- Dean, Sam, Alex, Claire, POV Jody
> 
> No triggers, just Jody gifting the brothers their first real Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas my folks!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read until this point and thanks for all the kudos and comments too <3  
> I hope you enjoyed all the stories, I'd be glad about some more feedback in the comments, as well as prompts and wishes for future works. Tell me which ones were your favorites and if you want some kind of continuation ;)
> 
> Enjoy the holidays all over the globe even in these hard times

I knew that the Winchester duo was hunting somewhere close by, after all they had called me several times over the course of the last two weeks for tips and information gathering.  
In the end there wasn’t much I could do to help them out though.

It looked like they were hunting for a lone werewolf, not a pack according to the low number of human victims. There were some animals ripped to shreds, but those were hardly of our concern, as mean as that sounds.

A lone wolf was hard to find, so the brothers weren’t exactly successful in their hunt as far as I knew and then it was kind of a surprised to be called by the hospital, concerning a certain Dean Colton.

Even though I wasn’t familiar with all the different aliases Dean had hidden up his sleeve, it wasn’t hard to guess that this wasn’t just a random Dean, but THE Dean, so I couldn’t hold back a sigh and confirmed that I was the person they were trying to reach.

After that the secretary quickly explained that he was in for a broken leg after an accident involving a horse and ready to leave come afternoon if I could come get him. A horse? I hadn’t known that either Sam or Dean were able to ride, especially Dean, who had a rather rocky relationship with all animals, including dogs, cats and snakes as far as I knew. Should I add horses to the list?

Well, looking outside the snow laid thick on every street, it would be much worse in a leafless forest, so riding was a quite effective way of transportation if they were still trying to hunt down that wolf.  
My interest was certainly piqued, so I called out for Alex and Claire, explaining shortly that the Winchesters would probably our guests for a while.

The teenage girls both lazed around the living room, staring at their phones because holiday break left them with nothing else to do. It was our third Christmas together in the arrangement of our weird patchwork family.

Alex quickly scrambled up the stairs at my declaration, probably to clean up the terrible mess that was currently her bedroom, while Claire probably couldn’t care less that my friends were coming over, bet she didn’t even recognize the name Winchester in her single minded focus towards her screen. She always got snarky when the hunters came up, but in the end swooned around them like the little kid she still was deep inside, because they were like a cool set of uncles, that let her get away with all her shit.

I dearly hoped she would at least get up and change into some real pants while I was collecting the hunters, because those shorts were not worthy to be considered real clothing.

Well, technically I didn’t know about Sam, the secretary hadn’t mentioned another one, but it was easy enough to assume they were sticking together like they always did.

When I arrived, the hospital was bustling with activity. A lot of activity considering our small town and the rural area surrounding it, but in the middle of winter lots of accidents happen and people get sick and Christmas is just generally more dangerous than the layman would think, burning trees, hanging lights while climbing chairs and other furniture, kids and their restless anticipation doing dumb stuff.

I hadn’t known the Winchesters belonged into the last category until now, but Dean certainly looked like a scolded kid when I caught sight of him through the chaos.

I hadn’t known either that looking at a man in his early thirties wobbling around on his crutches like a newborn faun was so damn funny until today, but I could barely stifle my laughter upon catching sight of the blond coming my way.

Sam was obviously hovering and didn’t help with the funny qualities of said view one little bit.

“Haha, hi Jody, I’m glad you’re having so much fun right now, but can we please just get into your car? I need to lie the fuck down or the itching is going to drive me insane within the next hour.” Dean complained instead of a greeting, and I just pat his shoulder in understanding while Sam gave a sheepish grin back at me.

I led them to my car slowly, because on the snow Dean lost even the last bit of his grace and balance, looking like an old man while shuffling across the parking lot.

When he was comfortably seated, I turned back at him and started asking the questions that had burned on my tongue since first getting this call.

“So, a horse? What did you do? Did you get kicked or thrown off, or what? And what about the werewolf you were hunting?”

I knew Dean tried on an angry expression, but in the end, he looked more embarrassed than anything else, his cheeks fiery red with anything but cold.

“It was a bear. I shot the bear while sitting on a stupid horse, and that piece of shit lost it, threw me off and I broke my fucking femur. Happy now?” He hissed back at me while determinedly staring out of the window, giving his crutches an angry little kick with the one working leg he currently had.

“You know that it’s normal for a horse to startle when you fire a gun from their back, right? Life is not a western movie.” I asked teasingly and earned another growl from the older brother.

“I fucking know, okay, still had to shoot that thing though, or I would probably still have fallen, only to be mauled by a crazy bear on top of this.” He grumbled, patting his trainer clad leg where it was bulky with a hidden cast.

“I know I know, get your panties out of the twist big boy, just trying to reel you a little.” I soothed back. “But seriously, a bear?” I continued, turning my gaze towards Sam, who was always the better man for objective answers.

“Yeah, the hibernation process was probably interrupted by something, so instead of going back to sleep it started hunting in the middle of winter a killed a few people, probably more on accident than anything else. Explains the animal carcasses found all over the place.” The younger hunter concluded their not so supernatural findings and I nodded my understanding.

“Okay, so now everyone had their laugh about me, can we please just drive to a motel or something? And get some food? I’m starving.” Dean complained from the backseat again and I grinned. The pain probably wasn’t nice, but a complaining Dean was always a good sign in some weird, very Winchester way.

“Nah, you’ll be coming to my place, it’s Christmas tomorrow you idiots, no way am I gonna let you sleep at some shitty motel. We’ll have a nice dinner and all that.” I chuckled, starting the motor noisily so I couldn’t quite catch whatever stupid objections they could’ve come up with.

Sam only spoke up again when we were parking at my place, Dean looking something between dozing and nauseas in the backseat.

“But Jody, it’s Christmas. You have Alex and Claire, don’t you do family stuff? We just.. We don’t want to intrude.” The younger man muttered looking quite unhappy.  
“We don’t even have gifts, like not even a fucking can of nuts or something, it’s not like I can hand the girls my painkillers or something.” The older one joined in, although he was scrambling for his crutches, ready to leave the confines of the car no matter if we were at my place or a motel.

“We don’t do gifts either, don’t worry. I buy them stuff for their birthdays, and like literally all around the year, whenever they need it. They’re at Highschool, not little kids that will be disappointed because I have other people over for Christmas. They already know you, and they even kind of like you in the teenage I can’t stand anyone older than me way. We have a tree and Christmas lights and stuff because Alex likes it, but if it helps you feel better, think of it as a normal evening with good food. Deal?”

It was weird that I had to convince them, because until now it had never been a problem for them to share the house with my newest family members, but then I remembered all the things Bobby shared with me about their childhood. I couldn’t imagine Christmas to be a regular part of that, at least not the way we know. No wonder they felt like they were intruding.

Sam looked towards Dean for guidance. It probably wasn’t a conscious thing the brothers did, but in some moments, it came natural to them to hand the decision making to the brother with more knowledge on the topic.

Dean opened the car door and heaved himself onto his one good leg, hobbling towards my house as an answer. Sam gave an uncomfortable little smile before getting out himself. I just shook my head in the second I was alone, before going ahead and opening my door for them.

Claire was still sitting exactly where I’d left her. At least she had the decency to look a little ashamed about that fact, quickly making space on the couch as soon as she noticed Dean’s awkward movements with his crutches. The blond girl resettled on the armchair and quickly pulled a soft blanket over her pretty much naked legs, still wearing those shorts then.

The two grown man probably acted even more awkward about the last part than Claire herself, decidedly not looking in the teens direction while the older one sat himself down and threw the crutches underneath the couch. Sam quickly helped him out of his thick leather jacket.

It was a new one I noticed, with soft looking fur lining the inside. It was stylisher and newer than anything I had ever seen the blond hunter wear and I was a little impressed to be honest.

Seeing Dean Winchester indulging a little in self-care and comfort with buying himself something actually new for once was something I loved to see as someone who knew how much he deprived himself on such things. I didn’t comment though, he’d probably find a way to interpret anything I said as something negative, because John would certainly find something negative about that if he were still around.

I may be a little prejudiced as someone who never actually met John Winchester and a dear friend to Bobby who had a lot to say about the man that didn’t help with making me like him one bit, but whatever.

“You want some coffee?” I asked after they both looked comfortable enough, and got enthusiastic affirmations from both of them, so I brewed a large pot.

When I returned, they were looking around the decorated living room with a look of wonder and curiosity in their eyes. They had every right to, the house was decorated very… well, Christmassy… Alex and I may have gone a little overboard. It wasn’t too much, just a tree with all the glittery ornaments that belonged there, candles on the sideboard and lights stuck to the window. It looked bright and warm, the way Christmas was supposed to feel.

Sam and Dean probably never had a tree in their home before, not to mention all the Christmases they probably spent without even a real home.

I decided then to bring a plate of cookies with me. Claire may hate Christmas, but she liked baking stuff and Dean definitely liked sweets, of course pie was his favorite, but cookies were great too according to the way he practically inhaled the treat.

“Where’s Alex?” Sam asked than, sipping his coffee leisurely. “Upstairs, probably cleaning her room up so you can use it.”

“Oh no no, we’ll go to a motel or sleep on the couch or something. That’s her room, she doesn’t need to share for Christ’s sake.” Dean intercepted quickly.

“We don’t mind.” Claire tried to speak up for the first time since greeting the hunters, but Dean was pretty adamant about his decision.

“Okay, sleep down here if you want to.” I ended the discussion with a shrug of my shoulders. “But stay, sleep in for once, have a nice, relaxing Christmas and eat with us in the evening.” No one had anything against that.

On the next day Claire and Sam helped with cooking, Dean sitting it out on the couch with his broken leg comfortably laid over the armrest. Alex kept him company. I had no idea what they were talking about, but neither looked uncomfortable or bored when I peeked out of the kitchen, so that was good.

In the end all of us sat down at the table together, eating self-made mashed potatoes, a thick stew with tender beef and a side of salad and wine for everyone.  
Claire even baked a pie for dessert, and we ate and talked for what felt like hours, the Winchesters retelling some of their epic or comedic hunts for Claire’s benefit, Sam talking with Alex about her plans for college and so on.

It was nice, and even though we weren’t a real family it wasn’t awkward or tense like I had first expected a Christmas with my illegally adopted teenage girls and my weird practically hunter brothers to be.

At the end of the day both girls were a little tipsy, and by the warm feeling in my gut that included me, so I sent them to bed. The Winchesters probably didn’t much care for the alcohol, but they had pretty much eaten themselves into a coma from their looks.

I wanted to wish them a good night, each of them settled on the air mattress or the couch in the living room, but then I overheard them talk without even trying to.

“So this is what a real Christmas evening’s supposed to be like.” Sam muttered, even though tired his voice still carried some wonder in it.  
“Yeah, guess so.” The older answered somewhere between happy and melancholy. “Can we come here again next year?”  
“If Jody won’t mind and we won’t forget, sure.” This time I was sure Dean was smiling, crinkling the skin around his eyes, even though I couldn’t see from my place hidden away in the kitchen.

“I won’t forget next year.” The younger mumbled, his brother agreeing softly. “Yeah, me neither. Although I hope I won’t have to break my leg for it again.” He joked, but Sam didn’t answer anymore, already fast asleep. I let them be, rest and joy was something they definitely needed more of in their life.

When they left, I firmly told them that appearance on the twenty-fifth was mandatory from now on. They disappeared with a promise of bringing gifts like good guests. Alex and Claire waved after them with a knowing smile. It was the best Christmas anyone of us ever had.


End file.
